#SOL18 3-9-18 What I Love About My Commute

Deer stand hesitantly at the side of the road. Cars begin to stop. First the eastbound, then the west. Only when there is a line of four or five cars on each side does their single-file procession begin. These are not the bounding, energetic deer of a Disney movie. These deer have endured a long day, a long week. They saunter single file, heads held high. When seven or eight are across, they stop near the road on a small rise. They turn, looking back at the stragglers. One of the larger deer has stopped in the middle of the road. She looks behind her into the brush from which they initially appeared. Warily, several more emerge. Like the crossing guard with her handheld stop sign, the doe has gravitas. Regal and patient, she holds traffic, waits as the rest of her herd falls in line before she continues on her way.

If I can see beyond the red lights, wildlife usually graces my daily 17 minute drive. The crows’ commute parallels mine. With the exception of nesting season, they roost in a forest in the foothills west of my home. Each morning they fly east over my house and into town where they work the dumpsters at Taco Bell, Starbucks, and Santiago’s. We keep the same schedule and travel the same path, the crows and I.

I prefer the slow procession of the deer or the companionship of the crows, to the violent and the startling. On Tuesday morning a hawk swooped from a light post, crossing the road, and made a quick kill all within the seconds it took me to pass in my car. One evening recently a bunny sped across the road as I rounded a curve, a coyote hot on his trail.

But the best was the evening just after sunset when a large owl swept across the sky, between me and the recently setting sun. Two miles further down the road another owl was framed by the ever-darkening sky, silent silhouettes emerging to begin their day as mine came to an end.