To the last glaciation’s beat, ungulate populations diverged, converged, and into the recent whole (now a difficult memory) birthed mule deer, who vied there for acorns with a mortal yet respectful relation. Salmon and trout swam the rivers and streams.

The Caltech rocketeers, the shuttling vehicles, the thunderous static firings with promethean flames, the 3,000 personnel, the 24/7 industrialism (a million-plus rocket motors!), the concrete bunkers storing 250 tons of rocket fuel: before these the deer retreated.

Light appears, wishes simplify: to persist in the burgeoning light allows. But what of light’s ambivalent implication in coming and going? Dawn and dusk both draw deer to activity, yet light’s breaking and waning remain distinct in their moods.

At dawn, warm light fills the canyon. Antlers appear among the sage scrub, then ears. A buck’s head lifts, dips from sight, lifts again, dips. A sound: bleating, as of a fawn. A buck’s head lifts, wary. With as much speed as silence, a dart finds its target.

At dusk, amidst oaks’ deep shade, deer browse for acorns, grasses, forbs. A hiker approaches quietly then turns around, raising a hand holding a phone. With a brilliant flash, a gadget delivers the hiker, the deer, and the oaks from time.

Poetry: © Robert Savino Oventile 2022
Photography: © Tom Mills