Just below my window
a rangale of deer at dawn
fold into their prayer mats of snow.
I am like the yearling at the edge,
restless, unable to center myself,
wandering in and out of the creek,
waiting for the rest of the world
to wake up.
An hour later, they are still sitting
on their snow cushions, these skilled
practitioners of stillness. An outlier
unfolds her legs, stretches, slides
closer to the group, then lowers herself
back into silence. The yearling and I,
beginners, keep wondering when it will be
time for breakfast.
—Carol Tyx, Prairiewoods artist in residence