by David Ackley
Closer. Their hides the color of dried leaves in the dust, the fawns' white-spotted, on long spindly legs, knobs of bone showing under tight skin. They graze behind, slanting their ears back. But the mother's ears turn separately on her skull, pointing here and there as she feeds. She has the face of a large goat, a neck long enough to reach the grass without bending her forelegs, high shoulders, a knobby ridge that curves down then up to the muscled rear haunches, around which her tail flicks at stinging flies. Carrying the two babies has swayed her back. The hair has pale thinned patches. Her knees are worn to the cracked skin. He urges himself closer, hungry to see more, into her life, her deep self.
Duke barks on the next farm over. The deer listen to that side. If a hunter with one bullet and you saw a dog running a deer, which would you shoot? The barking stops and their heads drop. He tries to go quicker and freeze just before she looks up. He seems to be on a track through her mind she doesn't know is there. Her hide shivers and flies whirl out from her side. She rolls her upper lip to crop. This close she is heavy and tired and earthbound as a cow. Not as he'd expected with the lightness of their movement. Her hard days chased and running. She raises her head with both ears cupped toward him. I am not here. No one is here. She drops her head again. She has a long, pointed slab of tongue like a cow's that twists into the clover and pulls it between her square yellow teeth. He moves three steps then two quicker now. The ending seems near but he still can't see it. If he gets close enough to touch, then what?
The doe's head snaps up. She stretches her face closer and takes his scent into her. In her plum-dark eyes swim two shirtless boys, white-haired and tanned. He is twice-born from the transparent air. For a fleet moment he feels what together courses through them invisibly, like the wind that bends the grass. But behind his floating reflections the dark bulbs swim deep back into a darkness. She is big and close and when she stretches to smell him she is too big and too close with a flooding life of her own that scares him. His helpless hand moves. Scuts raised white, they loop and touch, loop and touch and are over the fence and gone. He is there with her in the light springing through the trees feeling how she runs.
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This is a descriptive passage from a longish story that will be sent around shortly. Just wanted to see how a sample plays.
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This is excellent. I saw, felt and tasted. *
Thanks, Matthew, you said what I hoped to hear. Enough to keep me going.
A masterpiece. I am in awe of how this wonderful story is crafted. It doesn't get any better than this. A+ / *.
Yes, yes, yes again. Magnificent. Stalked eight of these day before yesterday, "... knobs of bone showing under tight skin..." and the magic I knew as a boy still exists, magic you've managed to capture.
*****
Well, damn. Thanks, guys. I've been slaving over this puppy for quite a while. It's kind of where I thought I could take it, but had no idea how it would hit anybody else. Very gratified that it hit home with you estimable chaps.
One of my fav favs of your pieces. This is what well chosen words and artfulness can do. Wonderful.
Would love to see this (as I do) as a long narrative poem.
Absolutely gorgeous
(and I learned what a scut was)
What Carol said.*
Thrilling.
Aw. This is wonderful. Lush and with a fantastic rhythm.
Very evocative piece. Loved so many details here, flowing effortlessly. Great piece!
Such a quiet piece. I think I held my breath reading it. From the detail, this sounds as if this scenario really happened-did you experience it?
Strong writing.
Wonderful phrasings - " But behind his floating reflections the dark bulbs swim deep back into a darkness. She is big and close and when she stretches to smell him she is too big and too close with a flooding life of her own that scares him. His helpless hand moves. Scuts raised white, they loop and touch, loop and touch and are over the fence and gone."
*
Thanks, Rachna and Sam.
Paul,
It does come from experience, but most of the details and all the language are invented, memory's vagueness a hindrance ( or help depending on how you look at it.)
Thanks very much for your engaged reading.
Sally, Loved your comment. Thanks a whole big bunch.
*
Beautifully crafted. I felt like I was there face to face with the deer.*
"She has a long, pointed slab of tongue like a cow's that twists into the clover and pulls it between her square yellow teeth."
I love the precision of this piece.
*
Thanks Bill. Great to have you reading and commenting.
This is breathtaking, Ackley.
It's so rare, too, to see something that captures the depth of our connection with fellow creatures like this. You light a candle in the dark forest we all inhabit together, but mostly forget now. I'm jealous. My bare feet sunk in moist fecund earth, reading this.