I took a break from writing to walk around outside. As I went, I thought, gosh, I don’t see any deer. In the spring and winter, there’s often five to nine hanging around the cemetery. In the spring, I typically encounter three or four eating in a yard somewhere or crossing a street. Just the other day, when it was cooler, I found three young bucks in a yard, chilling in a plum tree’s shade. Today, nothing.
Then — across the street from the coffee shop is a house. And there, by the front steps, I saw my first deer of the day.
I offered a silent prayer to the world to help this little one have a good, healthy life while wondering where mama was, hoping she was near — which is what I suspect — and would soon return.
It’s a gentle reminder among the streets, politics, and technology, about how basic and beautiful life can be.
Out for a break from writing, I was walking up Walker Street in front of SOU’s derelict houses. A doe just finished giving birth to a fawn in one of the yards. Hearing me, Mom turned attention my way, and then sniffed and licked her newborn. Standing, the tiny creature took a few tentative steps. Then Mom gave me another long look. I called out, “Be smart, stay safe, my friends.” Big ears coming my way, Mom and baby turned together and watched me continue my walk.
Tuesday, June 4, 2024, has crept in. Sun and clouds play keep away. Air feels cool but humid. A sense of a storm is sneaking in. None is projected. Sunshine is expected to crack through and send the high to 84 F. We’re told it’s a heat wave starting but I don’t believe them. That’s science and facts, which is cover for made-up bullshit. Yeah, that’s some low-grade early morning snark.
Ashlandia is quiet and still this morning. Saw my first fawn of the year two hours ago. No bigger than Papi, my ginger flooft, the fawn was prancing up the street alongside momma. Love those little miniatures.
There’s all manner of news out there around the world. Most of it seems to fall in the ‘not-so-good’ bucket, like large and venomous invasive flying spiders and invasive snake-head fish which can stay on land for several days. The spiders aren’t flying like birds with wings. I would like to see spiders with wings, who also maybe sing. Then they’d start landing on our trees, singing us awake. Singing, flying spiders.
These flying spiders are actually ballooning. If they’re like ballooning humans, expect some festivals and an increase in wine sales.
I’m staying in Ashland for a comment about our newly paved Ashland Street. One of two main drags — the other is Siskiyou Boulevard — it’s actually half-paved at this point. No matter. It’s a vast improvement. I’m hoping the rest is paved before this re-paved piece begins crumbling. That’s the nature of our streets. We’re not the Romans, you know.
With the new pavement has come bold and vibrant street markings. But there’s new green lines, too. No locals I spoke with knew what they were, forcing me to investigate via the net. These green lines are apparently ‘bike boxes’.
“When the traffic signal is yellow or red, motorists must stop behind the white stop line behind the green bike box. Don’t stop on top of the bike box. Keep it clear for cyclists to use. No right turns on red at these intersections.” h/t to Marty Smith @ Williamette Week.
Well, wait then. These are now no-right turn on red intersections? That makes a huge impact on our driving habits.
My morning mental music stream (Trademark chillin’) features Smash Mouth performing “Then the Morning Comes” from 1999. “Why that song?” I coolly asked Les Neurons.
“That’s how it is with some people,” they replied. “Some just say and do shit out of the blue. They walk by and drop a bomb like it ain’t no thing. Just like the song implies.”
“Anyone in particular?” I inquired.
The Neurons snickered. “You probably have some ideas.”
I think these are the lyrics The Neurons are talking about:
My wife and I were in a car’s backseat. A man was driving. We were on what seemed like an unpaved road. Hard to say; it was snow covered.
Suddenly, ahead – a fawn.
The driver was talking and slow to react.
Then, “I think I hit it.”
The car is stopped. We’re all looking back. I’m saying to my wife, “I’m not surprised, he wasn’t paying attention.” The car behind us avoid us.
Then, a big tanker truck arrives.
The fawn did not make it.
The tanker truck didn’t even slow.
Yeah, depressing. Definitely an anxiety dream about the present, about people not caring, not paying attention, and being helpless to do jack about it.
Michael Seidel, writer 