I stood at the edge of the observation deck leaning on the railing, as the last remnants of a sunny Wednesday evening dove behind the emerald tips of outstretched trees on the opposite end of the wetland. My attention was turned towards the undersides of the interpretive panels, my eyes scanning hungrily for a glimpse of one of the grey tree frogs that often hide away the days in the cool shade that the information sign brings. I couldn’t help but muse to myself about all of the footfalls that this wooden platform had felt since the inception of the Cussetah Bottoms Boardwalk in 1999 as I pressed my uniformed body against the warm wooden railings and leaned out as far as I possibly could before I went tumbling into the grassy water twenty feet below.
I saw the animal before the rustling had reached my ears, and I narrowed my eyes against the shards of light that were blinding me, eager to see what my stealthy (or so I had thought) movements had brought to life. It took a moment for my vision to find it, a small graceful neck reaching up above the reeds and turning towards me as she rose to her feet and showed her full two foot height. Dragonflies flew around her head like a halo and she barely twitched an ear at their bejeweled antics, their colors as beautiful as anything one could find behind the glass of the Tiffany counter. Her liquid like eyes were soft, lined with thick, dark eyelashes that blinked slowly as she curiously gazed in my direction.
My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel my heart beating like a wild lark in my chest, so afraid that any flicker of action from a lowly human would send her bounding across the wetland, her ivory spots fading into the forest shadows that surrounded us. But yet she stayed, both of us locked into a sort of passive stare down on an early July evening when her mother should have already rescued her from the danger, and I should have already been home tending to my garden and complaining about her distant cousins eating all of my snap peas.
The fawn pivoted from me quietly, her back twitching slightly as one of the dragonflies brushed against her soft tan fur, and raised delicate new hooves to step farther into the low water as the sky behind her faded blue, red, orange, and then yellow. I watched her go, her gliding stroll accompanied by the cacophony of crickets and a lonely serenade by a mournful barred owl hidden amongst the oak leaves off to the west. Breathing in the sweet smells of summertime nature, I too turned east towards home.
Angela Myers Anthony is the Visitor Services Specialist at Deep Fork National Wildlife Refuge in Okmulgee, Oklahoma. In her spare time she can be found hiking, kayaking, or writing about the outdoors. She encourages everyone to visit Deep Fork National Wildlife Refuge, or their local national wildlife refuge national wildlife refuge
A national wildlife refuge is typically a contiguous area of land and water managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service for the conservation and, where appropriate, restoration of fish, wildlife and plant resources and their habitats for the benefit of present and future generations of Americans.
Learn more about national wildlife refuge , to discover their own encounters with America’s amazing wildlife. All Photos: Credit USFWS
