Saturday, December 24, 2011
It was the deer my father was after when he bought the house. Never mind the bedrooms or the built-ins; forget the outdated kitchen, the nouveau 1970s master bath. Look, instead, out the window: the long spill of green two blocks long, the secret flickering forms. In the intervening years the green has grown up and the deer have multiplied. We're watching them now, his words skittering, my hand on my heart in my throat.