Musk Deer Zoologist 2020

I have arrived. Through the thicket of the forest, up the steep climb, over streams and rocks went the journey. Early in the morning, before every thrush and robin, I had to set out to be back before nightfall.
Here I am, standing in my clearing. How long had it been since I had last been here? Had I been 8 or 9 years old? A small naive boy I was, rebellious in school, a little bit underchallenged in everyday life and a big bit overwhelmed with the world out there. What did my parents have to push me into this monstrosity of a hiking vacation. What good coaxing couldn't do, books and video games had to putty up to get me into the car after all.

And exactly like that boy back then, with that stunned, delighted expression on my face, I now stand there and admire the sight of this splendor. Where birches, firs and cedars end, a meadow begins, from the grass, however, one hardly notices anything, so colorful shine the land carnations in the glistening sunlight. White carnations, red pitch carnations, light carnations, purple carnations, bearded carnations with white colored edges on the colored petals. Occasionally hedge roses bloom, untrimmed and untamed they do not bloom as strongly as in English gardens, however, the perennials fit perfectly into the wild romantic picture. I carefully enter the clearing, the lush green forest behind me, guided by a quietly perceptible ripple. I find a small brook that bubbles towards the forest. Immediately I remember it again, paper boat races, picnics on the banks and, of course, the blades of marsh grass in which the boats always got caught. Oh, if only my sister were here now, we would fall back into that childish ambition of always wanting to win, which had gripped us again and again even then.
But I am alone. And hungry. So I lay my jacket on the meadow, eat the rolls I brought with me and then enjoy the sunshine, the few cotton-like clouds in the sky, breathe the lush, almost supersaturating scent of the flowers and the smell of the nearby forest and suddenly I become very light, almost light as a feather.

I must have slept for several hours. Still dazed, I get up, take my jacket and look around. It has become afternoon, some of the clouds dare to cheekily cover the sun, before they have to bow to their rays and the light can penetrate the clearing again.
The wind must have shifted, a strong, sweet, almost creamy smell from the distance blows over the iris flowers on the banks of the brook and warms me. Like sandalwood and tobacco. I have to grin. I would be very surprised if these plants were growing in this native forest.
Instead of thinking about it further, I decide, before I would leave this marvel of nature, to look around again. I wanted to remember all the details, this peace and idyll virtually absorb to be able to feed on it in the dreary office.
And just as I again look at the excited little brook, it rustles in the marsh grass. A furry little head examines me attentively and I examine it back. It must be a kind of deer, still a young and inexperienced specimen. I happily sit down on the ground, rummage in my backpack for the hard cookies of my mothering boss and hold one out to the little animal. It approaches carefully, step by step, climbs cautiously over the rocks in the stream and immediately nibbles on my cookie. It is a female, delicate and filigree it stands there, nibbling tensely and not losing sight of me, in order to seek the distance again at every jerky movement on my part. But it stays. And it obviously wants another cookie, so I rummage in my backpack again. The plastic of the bag rustles loudly. When I look up guiltily, the little animal has disappeared, I see only more, as the marsh grass stalks on the shore bend back again into their starting positions.
Wistfully, I decide to make my way back home after this encounter, over rocks and streams, down the steep climb and through the thickets of the forest, to be back in the valley before the song of the nightingale. Hopefully, the beautiful creamy fragrance will accompany me a bit of the way.