the theme song to KQED’s Forum thrills me. it feels like something brilliant, something heartfelt is about to happen. like there is a cafe across the street full of people reading literature and philosophy; a bookstore up the block full of people discussing how to tend the world.
it feels like hope.
i feel guilty whenever i fail to enjoy an episode (it may be an overdeveloped sense of guilt).
pedaling along the Olentangy Bike Trail. on the way to campus. 12 bike lengths ahead, a young man rides slowly, probably headed to the same destination. a large doe leaps out of the woods a few feet behind him, crossing the trail and disappearing into the marshes in two bounds. she was a least a head taller than he. the young man turns to look behind him, a look of wonder on his face.
pedaling along the Olentangy Bike Trail. 12 bike lengths ahead, a young man rides slowly. a large doe leaps out of the woods a few feet behind him and disappears into the marshes. he turns for a look then continues on, wondering if it was a dream. when i catch up to the spot, i dismount, step on the kickstand, and gaze into the sedge. a pair of soft brown ears peeks from the rustling sea of green. i fold my hands in front of me; the left ear flicks a silent hello. i close my eyes and try to be quieter than the grass, kinder than the gentle stir of air. i stand like so for an hour. waiting. listening.
something nuzzles my right ear softly. i open my eyes; the doe is there. she wears a red ribbon about her neck, and her wide eyes are kind. she whispers a long phrase in my ear, but i do not understand it. she tries again, but none of the words are familiar to me. tears begin to pool above my lower lashes; she backs away. “see you tomorrow” she whispers, parting the sedge, disappears again into the marshes.