A move to a new home brings new beginnings, and also some hard goodbyes. Suzan Berns reflects on those changes.
My dear deer. I will miss you when I move.
As I sit at my desk, you’re on the other side of the window, standing on your hind legs to reach the top leaves in the bushes in my small, but secluded, backyard. You and your friends have already stripped the lower branches. You just looked up, seeing me seeing you. When I say a hello through the glass that separates us, you step closer, meeting my eyes; your ears are attuned to my voice.
You ate my hydrangeas, so I don’t buy them anymore. Or roses. And you chomped the top off my succulents. Even so, I delight in your presence.
In the 12 years at this desk, I’ve seen multiple moms with their fawns hanging out. Young stags with velvet covering their new antlers have playfully jostled each other. An older stag arrived with a leg wound, leaving blood on the ground where he lay. When he came back the next day, it was healing, to my relief.