Rolling in the grass near the pond while watching fawns hop to and fro brings up two perspectives while laying on your furry backside. Being a wondering deer often brings up that overly critical dissertation thinking that compares things in way that by the time one is through you propose you should have never been born. Pondering on the other hand makes a deer question and then go look for answers.

You get up and you wander around. You make notes. You become so noted but not noticed. That puts one in the realm of ancient deer.


Ancient deer of the skull face, grinning teeth and horns protruding skyward in defiance of some unknown god floating who knows where but possibly in the ruins invisible roofing cause wonder. They do things apart and together that get notices even when they are just sitting. You can feel their ancient mind putting forth invisible persona boundaries before you ever see them. You will find yourself veering off in an orthogonal manner if you try to head straight for one who does not wish to interact. It becomes quite a game trying to get to them for a run through. At one time someone discovered how to make flying deer and other the ancient ones they would hoover and then drop. Once done with fun one will find one self invisibly directed to areas of the forest for nexus making. When enough of that happens, a gathering occurs and in a moments notice all the deer everywhere begin to dance. Some alone while others form long lines or rings and all over the forest shaking deer booty everywhere. Just the exact opposite of the dignified ancient deer face. Sometimes the ancient deer would participate but other times they would go to the graveyard and sit or sit on the hill nearby and admire the stone work of the graves.

So we move to pondering once that experience is done. Why did my deer do that? Those of us who do not wish to be puppet deer for a game we do not understand just do something different we prefer over the imaginary director. Look for shark eating deer in the pond, sinking sand in the Mother's Hand, flying to the rafters of the ruins, and running to the top of the highest hill and flying off of it to see the pond from above and then drop in for a frog chat. Then running wild and free in as many directions as one can come up with vents the days frustrations off though other deer wish for stillness there is something to be said for taking a walkabout.

It never concludes. It simply just exists. wondering left