At the moment, there are two deer in the meadow. One is lying down in the dappled sunlight of late afternoon. She is partly in the sun and partly in the blinking shade. The other deer is at the edge of the meadow grazing on new shoots of wild daffodils and newly birthed clover. Neither graceful beast seems to have a care in the world other than the constant twitching of their while-tails and ears in a vain attempt to keep the biting insects away. They might have a memory of last fall's hunting season, but I hope not.
I like this meadow. It both heals and inspires. If I don't mow it every couple of weeks, it will festoon itself with colorful wildflowers: yellow buttercups, violets, Lilly-of-the-Valley, Forget me not, and delicate baby's breath.
It can also be a dangerous place if you don't know the potential hazards. Deer ticks are prevalent. I've had two bouts of Lyme Disease in several years from hanging out in the meadow and then and not checking myself afterward. Not good!
I'd rather see the grace of the wandering and lounging deer in the meadow than trying to irradiate the contagious tick. That's why I'm sitting on the deck writing this post and not down in the meadow.