Photo by William Isted on Unsplash

The moon shone brittle,
We walked slow amid frost sparkle.
My husband touched my arm,
Silently requested that we pause,
Inclined his head to show me what he saw.

Brown corn surrounding a silvery patch
Of grass tipped with shining frost.
And in that tiny meadow
A celebration of deer.

In spite of the moonlight
Touching them,
They seemed of little substance,
As they leaped and pranced,
Turned circles, kicking and whirling.

We watched until the cold reached our bones,
Teeth chattered as we walked home,
And tried to describe our joy,
The words could not suffice,
We arrived at the house in silence.

It happened years ago,
But still on certain nights,
When the moon shines crystal bright
Shadow deer arise,
And dance to grace a garden lawn.