Yesterday, an old buck came through the yard looking half lidded and hungry. It’s rutting season and the doe he was wandering around with seemed unconcerned that he was feeling his age. He kept watch as she grazed under the feral apple tree just off our patio where the bear and birds also come to eat.
When at last, he felt at ease, he joined her. The low slung branches caught his antlers and his date had eaten the apples so he made a move toward the open field across the way. The doe made no effort to play coy and followed him gamely.
This morning, on my walk, I found their mating tracks – a strange circular dance gouged into the wet earth.
And so the new growing season has begun. First, a gestation.