It happened along the river bank of this moment.
A deer drank, its ears flicked up, it pranced away,
absorbed by its home.
The ripples from its tongue,
and the sound of its leaving
quickly follow suit.
The wind carried the news to friends and enemies.
The sun made its final landing on the cool shadowed spot.
There are marks left for anything
that cares to look close enough,
and the fact that it was there
is stored in the very remote part
of my mind that is reserved,
for abstract little occurrences,
that happen along the river bank.
Now the spot where it happened is not just a spot anymore,
it is a spot where a deer was,
special.
Of course deer spots are like dirt along a river bank,
but this one's mine.
