Under a cold spell for the past few days, the resident deer have been showing up at the water trough.
A group of eight does, mamas and their babies.
All fat and healthy, they have quite a variety to choose from in the nearby pasture and woods.
My arborvitaes however, seem to be their favorites.
Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garment shaken,
Over the woodlands, brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
