"Icicle Creek (Still Life)" by Marjorie Laughlin

Out of the shadows, among shades of green

appears a deer, cameo like, still.

Sun draped leaves, warm, impart an auburn tint.

The doe pauses and hooves gently probe the mossy basin rocks.

She lowers her head to drink, ears twitching.

Alert, she raises her head.

Quiet, her stance, familiar, she’s been here before.

I watch from the other side of the swollen stream

as it plummets over worn boulders;

silvery, ribbon-like waves, weave between the crevices

and roar like a freeway at rush hour.

Cedar waxwings dive, scoop, and loop.

Across the water, the doe lingers near a placid pool.

I pass the time too, captivated, content.

She moves slowly into the forest.

Standing, I hesitate, hoping for her return.

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