we woke to ice this morning, blowing snow.
those sleeping inside, those outside.
clear skies - living wind through knit fibres

Blowing from the south, cold,
I was riding towards the sun
from the north

It has been some time since I've seen a deer
And there he was, in offset glory
playing with height as
he bounded over the stalks of now dead
grasses.

Sometime this last season
with young living antlers
some sort of hurt
- and break -
has set his rack one
sided

too much
too early
too fragile

He would later have known,
his body would understand when,
he would be ready to rub.
to harden the softness of vulnerability
to sharpen his wit and respond
to his needs.
territory, breeding.

And here he was
playing with height 'cross grasses
in the wind from the south
blowing cross the face of a man
riding a bicycle