Sanctuary (1)

The trees bare as straw brooms
bleed bright yellow blazes,
sharp counterpoint on grey beech;
dark needles of conifers
comb the winter air
shoved by a bitter wind.
The snow is loosely sifted
glaringly bright under the winter sun
as we cross-tuft a pattern
striding snowshoed. The
silence echoes as we whisper
in the cathedral stillness of the wood
watch two deer panic
red rumps flicking white flags
dark droppings steaming in the snow.
They're still spooked by vague
ghosts of hunting incursions
in this game sanctuary.

(We'd watched helplessly
as scaups frantically
beat the air
rising from a quiet autumn lake
air thick with shot. Later
looked down from protected heights
as a deer veed another lake
trying to escape the hunters
finally standing
frozen in fear
on the cusp of the lake
a perfect target.)

They're forgetful in the summer,
memory of terror dimmed
let us watch them browsing.
Yet it was just last summer
we discovered this same forest pathway
plush with fawn-coloured hair
yawning with the chalk-white
skull of an unwary deer.