As if summoned forth to haunt the acres and trick my eyes snow-blind, they hid in plain sight, stock-still in drift. a chord stirs, recessive pairs go back to unearthing a patch of horse-mint, grazing in near cross-cut the wild randomness of this place where winter is the first to arrive and the last to leave. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem about white deer belongs to Georganna Millman.