Deer Me

I couldn't think of a better way to start the day than a brisk morning run.  The cold air froze my nose and my feet crunched loudly on the frosty grass-amplified by the stocking cap pulled down snugly over my ears.  I set out eagerly on trails I'd never seen before-hoping for hills to climb, streams to jump over and the chance to breath the smells of the woods in deeply.
It refuels me-takes me back to my childhood in Minnesota where I spent every minute I could running, hiking, camping, trapping, hunting, exploring, escaping into the forest.  In college and now living in a large city, I've learned to combat the mounting claustrophobia by finding solitude and space in the woods. Sometimes I just need to be free and pretend I'm that little girl again-who's legs never seemed to get tired and who was always able to find adventure.
It started out promising, a hill, a stream, meandering trails.  My sluggish start begins to turn into a rhythm. My muscles warming, my brain beginning to think more clearly, my feet feeling their minimalist shoe (as barefoot as I can get in December) way over rocks, sticks, frozen clods of dirt.  I think I could make this a long run today.
I round a bend and glance up because something is out of place.  He hasn't moved, but a hunter is perched in a tree.  His camouflage clothing whispers that he belongs there-a natural part of the scenery.  His orange hat says that he does not.  His gun screams to me that I do not.

My mind doesn't register the danger until I've passed him. My pace quickens. I imagine hunters around every curve now and all I want is to get back to my cabin, to safety.
My best defense when I have done something stupid or am facing mortal danger is to find the humor.  I think about how this will make a great blog story and hopefully my friend won't have to write it for me. I imagine myself mounted to the hood of a pickup truck tongue lolling out of my mouth sideways with cartoon Xes  for eyes.  Or on the wall of a lodge somewhere, glasses askew.  I know it's not really funny, but I can't help myself.
I find myself back at the cabin and feel a sense of relief.  I kick off my moccasins and hang up my deer fur coat.  I figure the only reason I probably didn't get pegged is because of my small antler size.  Just like my writing half the time-no recognizable points.
I'm just glad I wasn't wearing my Target hat.