Deer Watching

     So, today, because I clearly can't take a rainy day as an indication to RELAX, I went for another run. And this time the sky was not just misting, it was actively raining. I kind of wonder if it will ever be sunny again, actually. Judging from the weather forecast it might be some time.

     Anyway, I ran the same run that I took yesterday, but today, perhaps convinced that no human would venture out after such epic flooding, I stumbled upon a mother deer and her three babies. Yes, I counted them correctly, there were three babies. Which was the first strange thing about these deer, since typically a mother deer has only one or two offspring. The second strange thing was that, here they were, in September, when the deer are typically gearing up for their mating season, and here were three fawns who still had their spots.

     But this little family seemed completely disinterested in me as I jogged up to them, and carried on eating, even as I (completely abandoning all codes of the runner) fully stopped running, thus breaking my stride and crept up behind a log to watch them. Soaking my new running shoes. My new WHITE running shoes. In the mud. But knowing me that was bound to happen sooner or later.

     I think they would have let me watch them all day, they just kept eating, completely unimpressed by my presence. The mother would occasionally look up at me when I would move, soundless though it was to me, and she'd stare hard, her narrow elfin face fixed on where I was "hiding". I could tell by her delicate radar ears and her wide searching eyes that she was not fooled. But after a while she would twitch her ears and bend her head to the grass again, flicking her tail back and forth as she fed. When she had a good mouthful she would lift her head a little and survey her babies, chewing carefully. She would swallow only when satisfied that they were doing well, and only then dip her head again.  She was not a big deer, hardly that much bigger than her fawns, which made me wonder how she could have carried them all.  This must be her first or second reproductive year, she herself is hardly more than a baby.

     As a human being I thought to myself "Good job Mama Deer, take good care of your babies." and happily resumed my (now labored) pace. But as an environmentalist, which I can't shake no matter how much I might like to at times, I knew how the odds were stacked against this particular mother. A young deer, in her early reproductive years, birthing fawns late in the season, and having three of them at that. With each fact the likelihood that these fawns will survive the winter diminishes. But I can hope that at least, seeing as how a large graveyard in Philadelphia is completely devoid of anything resembling a natural predator, they might have a slightly better chance.

     Still this was a sobering way to pass the rest of my run, and I will look for this little family again on future runs. And at least with all the rain, although I don't doubt that more horrific flooding will result, they will have a few days of rainy peace to graze and start to prepare themselves for the coming cold.

Running

     When I woke up this morning there was a moment when I thought that I would not run, that instead I would wear jeans and a long sleeved shirt and shiver in the dark rainy cool. Though what I would have done with myself besides shiver I don't know. Running in kind of my salvation from being bogged down with free time around here.

     But the air, though misty and soft, was warm, and the sky was gray, but not dripping. So I put on my shoes and took off, heading for the graveyard.

   
     The benefits of the graveyard run are as follows: fairly flat, save for a memorable slow slope at the beginning and an even more remarkable one after the turn around point. Some traffic at the start, but since the bulk of the run is done in the graveyard the car-related-worries of a typical suburban Philly run are definitely lower. The graveyard is beautiful too, all flat sloping green lawns and beautiful sycamore and oak trees. Very old world Philly, back when Glenside was part of the country, fringing along the nicer Irish settlement.

     Of course, depressingly, the relative isolation means I have to maintain a heightened state of alert regarding any suspicious persons in the vicinity. But you pick your poison and there are definitely more cars than there are creepers in my home town.

     I love the days when you think you are not going to run, but then you decide to do it and you are rewarded by feeling like you could run for ever. The weather was perfect, damp and cool, which for this season is a relief instead of a burden. Through the wooded part of the run a silvery mist hung between the trees, turning the leaves a brilliant apple green and making the silvery gray-green lichen on the bark light up like lanterns. That is my favorite part of the woods in the rain, at first glance it seems dull and washed out, but then parts of it almost glow, each individual leaf dripping beads of water that catch the color around them. The normally bright colors, the reds and fuchsias are dulled, and the background colors, the shy colors, are vibrant and beautiful. It is the world in negative, in reverse.

     This quieted and personal world made for a dreamless, effortless run. My legs felt peaceful and well timed, muscles springing and coiling, releasing and coiling again, flexible and resilient. I can always tell when I am exhausted because my muscles feel like bricks, reluctant to relax, reluctant to tighten. When I am not exhausted they are smooth and springy, strong and seemingly tireless. My run today made me realize how exhausted I was when I began this summer. Every run I took made me feel like I was running in sand. But of course, when that's the norm, you don't notice.

     I noticed today, and now that I am back the sun is beginning to peek through the clouds. But I don't regret not waiting to run. I like to walk in sun, but run in the shade.