I am still. His amber eyes – so full, soulful – trace each move I make. Am I the hunter with eyes in the front of my face? His horns are still dull with fresh spring fuzz. I imagine taking them in my hands, rubbing with anxious thumbs, the velvet slipping, pilling like lint in the dryer. His tongue flicks out, wetting his nose the only acknowledgement that we are not statues. Who will break first, turn away from the other’s troubled eyes? Resolve this inward battle of prey and predator, of watched and watcher? He walks away. I am left, still statue, still a deer caught in headlights waiting for the image of his eyes to leave my mind.
Adelaide Gifford (she/her) is a recent graduate of Hamilton College in New York, where she majored in Creative Writing and double-minored in Hispanic Studies and Environmental Studies. Her favorite genre to write is a mixture of nature writing and fantasy, with a bit of magical realism thrown in, and her favorite authors include Richard Powers, Harper Lee, Billy Collins, and Brandon Mull. She has previously published a short story, “Bullfight,” in Sucarnochee Review, and poems in Applause Literary Magazine, Kudzu Review, and Furrow Literary Magazine, among others. When she’s not writing, she enjoys hanging out with her dog and exploring the natural world. Instagram @adelaideluciagifford.
