It has been months since I was at Pi, and the rainy season had turned the field into the tallest, greenest grass I have experienced. In fact, it had taken over the gravel driveway, so that when I ventured into it, I had the sensation of plunging into a body of water, with the grasses bending to either side akin to the parting of the Red Sea.
After a few days of backing and forthing on the driveway, I had trampled the grasses
and managed to open my car door more easily.
And what magic was lurking there!
A “rafter” (thank you, Google) of wild turkeys appeared: three toms in
pursuit of two hens, their plumage so luxurious that I could have fallen for them,
were it not for the rather off-putting red snoods at their necks.
Two nights
ago, as I pulled into the driveway, I saw a doe and her newborn fawn in the
headlights. The baby was so tiny and its legs so spindly and tremulous that it seemed to stabilize itself by latching onto its mother’s
breast. I turned off the car lights and
motor and remained still inside while the mother and child bonded. The moon was a bright crescent in a
blue-black sky, and I was in awe.
It was as
if the driveway had become a protected little stage for nature, and I alone was the audience, there to
witness and to applaud.
