We heard no shot, just a splash too big to be that of jumping fish or toad. And then it came into view, swiftly bobbing across the water. We strained our eyes to make out the foreign creature as it drew closer to shore. My imagination identified it confidently as a sea monster, but Emma and Elena reeled me back to reality proposing moose or deer. They were probably right.

I hadn’t seen the twins in months before this woodland jaunt. Some scheduling conflict or another steadily delayed meet-up, but we all committed for the day after Thanksgiving. Reunion with them is always easygoing and natural. Our bond lies in our mutual loves of ice cream, nature, and proper grammar. Common history contributes too. We grew up a few blocks apart, attended the same high school, and worked together for a time. The sisters are brilliant — valedictorian and salutatorian of our shared alma mater in fact, which earned them the endearing moniker of “wonder twins.” Seven years passed between graduation and our fortuitous reconnection in the real world, where deep friendships have been more difficult to come by.

I assumed we’d head to our beloved Ashley Reservoir, but they surprised me with acceleration past the usual turnoff and on to that for Mount Tom State Reservation. I had brought my coffee mug thinking we’d be sauntering along the mild gravel track of the reservoir and so inwardly resented that my steps would require more thought, but said nothing, ultimately indifferent to the choice of course. I’d “tough it out” with my beverage at Mount Tom. While on long-distance runs, I had seen people strolling with their portable vessels and determined that this was something to aspire to: a leisurely walk with coffee. Today was the day. Hills or not – friends, wilderness, and the mug.

We parked and set off to start with a loop of petite Lake Bray, at my request. This would allow for a gentle warm-up and less sloppy coffee sips. However, I knew that the chosen course would also evoke memories that I keep buried. That the anemic November forest would call to mind shared places, though this had not been one of them — a strange, season-induced nostalgia for experiences I’ve locked away unwilling to touch or fully revisit. So there was a bit of masochism in the desired start point below layers of late fall beauty, good people, and caffeine; but something redeeming there too, the truth that I had been able to feel and give with exceptional depth. The reaction of nerve endings to this landscape would remind me that those capacities might still be intact. The coffee, like a small sensory anchor, would keep me in the present with its warmth and aroma and taste if I drifted too far into the past.

As is often the case upon reacquainting, the twins and I discussed assorted banalities: the components of our turkey dinners, new purchases, travels, and other food experiences. Often the minutiae evolve into deeper discussion. We ambled along the well-trodden path before the giant splash stole our attention.

A moose?! Here? Impossible. Deer? Can deer swim? We stood still as the beast approached the bank. Despite our obstructed view, we could hear it emerge from the water…then silence…then hoof steps rapidly gaining proximity. Within minutes it flew past, just a couple yards from where the three of us stood in collective awe. A white-tailed buck deer! Based on extensive experience walking in deer territory, this behavior presented as quite abnormal. They generally sprint in the opposite direction of humans.

Puzzled by the encounter, we continued around the loop. Upon reaching the footbridge that enables passage across the lake, we again heard the crescendo of its gallop. Unsure whether to dash or maintain our position, we froze waiting to find out where the sound would go. Seconds later, the deer leapt back into the water just before the bridge, in a place shallow enough to bound across. My eyes widened and found focus on a small, bloody tuft of fur on his back. The pieces quickly connected. He had been shot. What creature wouldn’t react with such distress and drama?

He sprung from the water and darted along the opposite bank disappearing into the woods. In a matter of minutes, we had seen him cross the lake twice and sprint the full length of both sides.

Concerned by his unpredictable actions, the three of us agreed to retrace our steps back to the parking area hoping not to cross paths with bewildered Bambi. As we proceeded in nervous banter, nature’s whisper distracted me: Isn’t life like that sometimes? You’re struck so hard you don’t know how to react or where to go, and you just run in all directions.

It was a vivid reality check. Blissful bits of censored memory were quickly tempered by other historical realities – the wounds. Where there live remembrances of euphoric joy, also reside those of deep pain. While grappling with these two extremes sent me running; longer, slower, and more honest consideration of them brought stillness. I spit out the prescription of time over and over again, skeptical of its efficacy… and unwilling to let go. Endurance, which has been a benefit to me in most facets of life, proved to be a weakness here. But since nobody can really refuse time, days and weeks and months brought change. And on this walk, despite the undeniable fall environs — to traverse the haunted woods, feel everything, and keep rooted — it was spring.

As for the deer, it did not appear to suffer a mortal wound, for it sprinted vigorously. Hopefully disorientation would not lead to further trauma, but rather he’d find an open, uninhabited field to retreat and heal.