As the green grazing dwindles and the forest understory turns in on itself, fades and wilts, agile deer are forced into the ravine to forage. I can hear their feet crunching over brittle madrona leaves and cracking small branches as they browse their way uphill through the tangle of salal, blackberries and wild honeysuckle vines.

Which is why I don’t really begrudge them the geraniums and hydrangeas they scavenged from my deck. But my prize rex begonia that I’d grown to massive magnificence—that was heartbreaking to see bitten down to the soil.

With coddling, my begonia may survive, but the truth is, some of this deer herd will not. Cougars, bobcats and coyotes roam these woods just waiting for a deer to falter or venture off alone. That’s the horrible beauty of the food chain—everyone is food for someone else. Even us. When we wander into the seas or the wild woods, we’re tempting sharks and bears to help themselves.

But we can offer ourselves to our fellow humans in less all-consuming ways. We can nurture one another. We can feed on one another’s kindness.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What spirit food have you provided lately?
• Who could you offer nourishment?
• What parts of your self are you now willing to share with others?

I always wonder about the year’s new fawns—born in the lush month of June, their early days are filled with dining at an endless buffet of tender greens. How do they wrap their young minds around the diminishing of their food supply? It must come as such a shock at the age of just four months to realize they don’t live in perpetual summer. They seem so stoic later in the year, calmly, silently enduring winter. But then their world is always only about survival—each day they must make wise decisions or risk that being their last day.

it's good for her survival that this doe doesn't trust me

I’m grateful not to live with the constant fear I see in the eyes of the does and fawns who live all around me. My dog and I startle them often just by our sharing the same space. The lone bucks are different though. Late yesterday I went for a bike ride along the edge of the woods and came upon a solitary six-point male. I slowed way down to admire him, and he didn’t budge. I could have reached out and touched him. We held each other’s gaze, and I hope he felt my respect. Is it the constant weight of his imposing antlers that inspires his confidence and bravura? Does he feel superior to me on my silly pink bicycle? I watched him leave the open field where he’d been munching and amble across the road and into the woods—unafraid of me. Perhaps he was daydreaming of evergreen fields and endless summer. I hope we both get to enjoy a mild winter.

May he never hunger.

And may he never hunger for begonias!

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What things or experiences are you hungry for right now?
• How will you satiate your desire?
• How are you attuning your life to the changing season?

Read about other animal allies here…geese and crows and eagles and whales.