OUT IN THE WILD

The Tree of Life

Waking up at 5:30 in the morning to the dying screams of a fawn leaves me standing at the window with sorrow knowing there is nothing I can do. I watch the small group of deer at the top of the hill where they normally spend the night. They are restless and running back and forth. I hear the crows excitedly cawing and unreasonably hope it is one of theirs. And then the lone coyote slips down the hill and quietly jumps the fence.

Later, I look for the fawn, hoping that the screams were just the "che che" of a fawn anxious for its mother. But, no, the fawn is dead, already wet from the sprinklers, stretched and gutted by the predator. The morning events remind me of the news stories this spring of whale watchers on Monterey Bay aghast as Orcas slipped by mother Grey Whales, corralled and killed their babies, filling the ocean with bloody water.

We are not used to such terror or viseral sightings in suburbia. But we are more and more encroaching on wild land, which means these sights are more common. We remind ourselves this is part of nature. Kill or be killed. Starve or eat. But that doesn't make the sight of death any easier.

Our backyard is usually a sanctuary. We have hosted deer and their fawn over the years, raccoons have given birth and raised families under our deck, a jack rabbit snips at flowers and then bounds up our hill, skunks waft through looking for mates, birds of all kinds feed at our feeders and drink from the fountain. But sometimes, nature appears at its most cruel. A mother deer died trying to give birth at the top of the hill. The animal control person who collected the body for us reminded me that deer do not have veterinarians or hospitals to assist them. A butterfly fell at my foot, beautiful just barely alive. Birds raid other birds' nests and leave broken eggs and feathers strewn on the ground.

This morning's abrupt awakening lingers with me and reminds me of the closeness of life and death. I  stand over the spot where we buried the fawn and thank it for giving us a brief view of its short, joyful life as it would bound over our fence each morning with its mother to go out to search for food.