“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin.” (Matthew 6:28)
Consider the lilies by the front door. They do not spin, not yet, as they’ve opened on a still morning, without a breeze. But they’ve reached the wind-chimes, the eaves.
Consider the loons, the ones we saw this morning flying over the lake as I swam and John sat nearby, reading. I’ve never seen more than 2 or 3 loons at a time but there were at least 10, one of them calling, calling, that unearthly tremolo, and 4 returned to the water, past the little islands. Later, a single one flew to the bay near where I was swimming, alone.
Consider the coyote pup, the one we’ve seen lately just to the south of our house, not this one (who came a dozen years ago, or more, in much the same routine) on the mossy area we call a lawn. Last weekend, several evenings this week, and then this morning, before 6, as I worked at my desk, it appeared just below my window where 4 stairs lead up to a little porch below my study. Consider its beautiful face, its open ears, and the unexpected sight of it nibbling salal berries at the edge of the woods.
Consider the nuthatch exploring an empty birdhouse, a huge summer spider in the sink this morning, a hare beyond the garden last evening, the young buck I heard John talking to from the upper deck, with its new antlers, the western tanager chasing a Steller’s jay away from the post where I’d put pumpkin seeds, consider the barred owl calling last night, and the night before, consider the trout jumping as I swam the other day, right out of the water, and consider the quiet as the moon set yesterday morning.
...Theresa Kishkan 
So John is talking to the deer. I do the same with rabbits, chipmunks and robins. It’s a strange but satisfying compulsion. I wonder what the animals get out of it?
John
Well, Gary Snyder writes about this in The Practice of the Wild. I don’t have it at hand but remember (I hope!) that he refers to Ainu beliefs that deer, salmon, etc. like both our music and our languages. And that we sing or talk to them as part of a reciprocal gift economy. I often see deer at our place and stop what I’m doing to talk to them. Their ears twitch, their eyes are bright and curious, and eventually they return to whatever they were doing (which is often trying to eat the roses).
I love everything you’ve written here, but I’m also straining to see the cover of the book he’s reading while you’re swimming. I can’t help wondering what it is. (You don’t have to say!)
I can’t recall! But maybe a New Yorker!
😀