I don't know what will happen in the future; whether or when a major road will bisect this remarkable island forest and scatter us all to the high winds; or whether, if and when that time comes, it will be seen as a blessing to future placeholders of this spot on the planet.
What I do know is this: each morning of this November, 2010, I have been privileged to share the clearing with the Gang of Seven: 4 whitetail does and 3 spotted fawns. Sometimes a young spike buck grazes, but he is a solitary visitor.
They circle the cleared area as though it is some junior college jogging track. Back to front. Front to back. I want to tell them that they should be afraid of me, or if not me, my kind. But they are on to me, I fear, and if I am not very careful, soon they will be at the front door asking for a bowl of steel cut oats, uncooked, if you please.
When I see these lovely creatures each day and have come to know their habits, as in some measure they have come to know mine, I am stunned. I cannot help but wonder whether I am receiving some sort of message, something like the burning bush only sweeter.