Today we went to Farranes Woods, just slightly west of Cork City. There are some deer in the woods. I am incapable of seeing a deer without thinking of the series of poems by Mary Oliver about fawns, or deer. Here is one of my favourites.
The Fawn
Sunday morning and mellow as precious metal The church bells rang, but I went To the woods instead.
A fawn, too new For fear, rose from the grass And stood with its spots blazing, And knowing no way but words, No trick but music, I sang to him.
He listened. His small hooves struck the grass. Oh what is holiness?
The fawn came closer, Walked to my hands, to my knees.
I did not touch him. I only sang, and when the doe came back Calling out to him dolefully And he turned and followed her into the trees, Still I sang, Not knowing how to end such a joyful text,
Until far off the bells once more tipped and tumbled And rang through the morning, announcing The going forth of the blessed.
