When Indian summer lures us (and others) back outside

Last week I watched a buck frolic through the amber grasses near the Iowa River. Just after dawn, a light, clear blue rose with the sun, but pockets along the eastern wood line remained dark. The buck's horns flashed as its head jutted up then down. Probably in musk, I thought as pausing from my walk, no more than 20 yards away from him.

While I'd seen deer on previous walks - a doe and her two fawns made that part of the river valley their home through the summer - no buck had yet presented itself. Perhaps he'd just moved in; with the arrival of autumn's chill during September, I'd consigned myself to the treadmill for exercise the past three weeks and wouldn't have noticed. But that morning Indian summer had lured me outside.

No doubt it also had inspired the buck. He skipped back and forth across the patch of knee-high grass, strangely like those drawings of flying reindeer in children's Christmas books. Despite the leaves' splay of orange, red and purple, the promise the morning's warmth held offered a respite to our eventual collision with winter. That season does offer its own charms, but too often winter overstays its welcome. Summer, in contrast, always is quick to flit away. Her quick stop at the fence post each autumn never goes unappreciated.

For me, the buck's giddiness changed the whole morning. Now, I've seen many deer in my lifetime, sometimes grazing on stubble in a cornfield, on occasion standing against a grove of trees, once even rolling across my windshield as my foot hit the brakes. Perhaps it's a predatory instinct, a carryover from our hunter-gatherer days, that always causes me to glance admirably at their perfectly curved forms, but rarely do my eyes follow them for long. One deer pretty much is like any other.

But I'd never seen a buck gambol.

And then it froze, thrust its head toward me and stared. I think it stopped breathing for a moment. Was I friend or foe?

My own face flushed. There I was, a peeping tom of sorts, gaining some vicarious pleasure from watching its merriment. A dryness filled my throat, and I glanced at the ground.

The buck did not take the opportunity to run, though, and when I slowly raised my head, its own frame relaxed. Had it seen the look of glee in my face as I had in its prance? Anthropomorphizing other creatures goes against my better judgment, but we are both mammals and must share some common emotions. After all, we both were ambling about in Indian summer.

And then it sauntered off, into one of those pockets of dark. Glancing at my watch, there was just enough time to make the apartment and shower before work. I headed back up the dirt trail, a slight leap in my steps.

(originally published Oct. 12, 2003)