The beautiful, golden time of twilight has descended. My peaceful evening yard is full of fluttering white moths bouncing from leaf to leaf like so many tiny specks of light. From across the street, a white-tail doe smells my roses. She carefully makes her way across the slick pavement, unaware that Boots, our black kitten, has fancied himself a lion and is stalking her every move. He crouches, his long tail twitching, every muscle ready for the big spring that will bring this great creature down and end her delicate life. She notices him at last, turns to look, and the mighty lion is once again a silly black kitten. I watch, unseen, from behind the curtain.
The doe continues into the yard, glides slowly up the hill by the cherry tree, and lowers her soft nose into the bright pink wild roses that grace the hillside. I step out onto the front porch and speak softly to her. "Hello", I say, "Could you please leave the roses? I'm sure that we could find you something else just as delightful to eat." She regards me with those big brown eyes, her soul reflected in them. I can see that she is not hungry. She is wanting a little something sweet with the same conviction that a small girl of three wants a strawberry ice cream cone. We stand quietly, looking into each others eyes. Who will win this battle of the wills? She is not comfortable enough to nibble her dessert with me standing so close, yet neither is she willing to back away and leave those delicious treats sitting upon their prickly stems. I take a few steps closer and she bounds away, into the neighbors yard, her white tail up, surrendering to my stronger will.
Back on the porch, I watch for some time, standing gaurd over my roses. The doe is sniffing around, looking for something, anything, to eat. Ah, a yellow birdfeeder, swinging gently in the evening breeze. She tentatively reaches out her long pink tongue. A taste of seed later and you can see a look of pure pleasure in her eyes as she chews. I feel somewhat sure that my roses are safe, at least for now, so I tuck myself into my little blue cottage for the night.
Morning has come. I stretch and pad softly to the window, on the look out for the birds that partake of their breakfast feast at my front yard bird cafe'. As I pull back the curtains, I notice that my little feathered friends are not around this morning. A closer look reveals that, alas, not only is my neighbors feeder empty, but mine is empty as well. There appear to be large teeth marks on the roof of my little cedar-sided feeder. Seems my beautiful visitor had quite the little feast.
I will sit this evening, waiting quietly in the gloaming. Should my friend reappear, we shall have another chat...