The Liminal Threshold
We wake up in the dark now. And even when we leave our home in the mornings, the light is still dim and so we have to turn our headlights on in order to see into the long shadows left behind as the world slowly lights up. It is rutting season and the deer are on the move now during the low light hours, darting out from the woods into the road, stopping to stare back at us with their white tails raised after they reach safety. Each morning, we see more deer than the morning before and so we drive with particular caution.
There is comfort in knowing that such large wild animals live among us. They walk in the woods I walk in — I use the very trails they and other woodland animals forged generations before I called these woods mine to roam. On more than one occasion, I have inadvertently scared away a deer bedding down in a hideaway as I unknowingly come into too close of proximity. While I do not see them hastily leave their sanctuary, the sound of deer suddenly fleeing is unmistakable. They are oftentimes ghosts of the forest, their presence only known by sounds of their fleeing, the discovery of laid down hoof prints in mud, vegetation where they have bedded down for rest, fallen antlers after the rutting season ends, or even the occasional bones left behind after their death.
I imagine what it would be like to be such a ghost, to exist in the liminal thresholds of light and dark, known and unknown, everywhere and nowhere. I know that when I am in our woods, I am surrounded by animals I do not see or hear or smell. There likely has never been a time that I have been out there that I was truly alone. From woodpeckers and bobcats to copperheads and deer, these woods are rich in life that is fully aware of our presence as we tromp through their spaces. And yet, I rarely ever have any clue of their presence.
The human brain evolved within the same natural world deer still thrive in, and when we spend time in Nature that feeling of wonder must be a holdover from some portion of our brain still in tune with that world. We know we belong there just as sure as we know the manufactured world often makes us feel weary and isolated. It is no wonder we crave reminders of our connection to our ancestral past by not just going into Nature but also in surrounding ourselves with photos of beautiful landscapes and falling asleep to the recorded sounds of rain or flowing water or birds and wind within a leafy forest. We collect souvenirs of our time spent in Nature such as rocks, seashells, sticks, feathers, and leaves. Our minds find pleasure and release when we are exposed to that which shaped who we are at the core.
The past year and a half has unwound me, as I am sure it may have unwound you, too. The need to be reminded of my connection to the natural world has grown stronger as I feel more and more disconnected from the manufactured world I must exist within. I crave a different sort of isolation now that only the natural world could offer, one that would have me safely hidden behind a wall of trees and shrubs and all that conceals a beating heart aware of its mortality.
Two deer emerge from the woods ahead of our headlights, one after the other. We notice just in time and come to a stop. They run across the road, slip into the woods on the other side, and then turn back to watch us as we had watched them. We wave a good morning to them and continue down the road with watchful eyes.
Originally written October 24, 2021 during the COVID pandemic.
