The Deer That Wasn't There

 On the way,

I walked, in wonder,

Where would it come from,

God today?

Where is your word, 

Here in the hedgerow?

At home if the half-light,

Hiding in plain sight, 

I should say,

Open my eyes,

In expectation,

Open my mind,

My heart would say,

Where in this wasteland?

Where in the wanting?

Where is the word,

In the world today?

Where is my manna,

My meat and my measure,

My portion and pleasure,

Arrived to stay,

Where in this wide world,

That you have created,

Is the delight I've desired,

Through night,

Till the day?


I can do nothing,

Without your word,

Without the wonder,

Of you to sway,

My heart like a tree,

In your direction,

The wind of your spirit,

Will blow me this way,

I've seen your word,

In wilds and wastelands,

Wetlands and wet sands,

And in the sea spray,

It comes to me, 

In Winter,

In Robins like ravens,

If feeds me, as they feed,

On my feeder each day,


The words walks by,

As I walk out in nature,

It flies high, and glides by,

The wind 'neath it's wing,

It's lifted me too,

As it's left me at landfall,

Listened with laughter,

As I lift voice and sing,

The word is a hider,

Habitually hidden,

But it's also a revealer,

An ambusher-king,

It sneaks up in surprise,

Swoops down from the skies,

From the ground it will rise,

Suddenly showing everything,

So where in this wild world,

Where in this wasteland,

Where in the quicksand, 

Is your word today?

Where is your olive branch?

Save me, I'm sinking,

Stuck in the stagnant,

Miry clay,

There in the cornfield,

There by the oak tree,

There with it's four legs folded,

In the distance, is a deer today,

Bowed at the bottom,

Slipped into slumber?

What is it doing?

I cannot say,

If I am quiet,

I can creep closer,

I can sneak slowly,

And see it's display,

Dead though it may be,

Stopped like a still stone,

Dropped like a mill stone

At bottom of bay,

Is it still breathing?

Can't decide in the distance,

Draw near to the deer,

Hush now as you slink,

This must be it,

Your word in waiting,

And for the first in a longtime,

I've found it, I think,

All the lessons from learning,

Songs from the psalmists,

Deer and their drinking,

And I'm thirsty that way,

Perhaps that is why,

You lured me in my longing,

You chose a deer to deepen,

Whatever it is, You are going to say,

I sneak even more slowly,

Cling close to the hedgerow,

Hide in the shadows,

Hold my head out of sight,

The deer doesn't move,

Though I came out of cover,

Coughed and then crouched,

But it doesn't take fright,

This deer it seems,

I say as I near it,

This deer must be dead,

Or deaf or blind,

I know I'm down wind,

But that doesn't explain it,

It must be dead,

What will I find?

I'm staying the right side of the oak tree,

Now I have cover,

I discover my mind,

Suspects that the sight,

I am set upon seeing,

Is something else,

(A deer of a different kind)

And breaking my cover,

I discover the deer isn't there,

But an oak branch,

Slyly suggesting the shape that I saw,

'Gotcha', says God,

Getting the laugh in,

Setting the bucket,

For me to walk in the door,

But the image of that deer,

Doesn't leave me,

A picture of chasing,

A metaphor,

The deer wasn't there,

But the lesson learned,

Is what it wasn't there for.