Frick Park draws me to it for its landscape and topography, and I enjoy hiking the decline into the valley and back up. I normally follow the bike paths and go by a spot that's cleared and planted with grass and new trees. At the edge of the woods, there's a grassy area with picnic table. There are baggies and blunt wrappers laying around—the remnants of nearby kids smoking pot. I avoid my regular path down the bike trail and go another way. It's a wide, muddy grass path behind a row of houses. The trail stays flat for a quarter mile and passes behind eight or nine houses. From that point, I cut into the woods and down the slope.

It's a familiar path used by deer instead of mountain bikes. Hooves and a pair of shoes are stamped in the mud. I edge down the hill to the clear-cut area. As I arrive, the air is cool, and there's only white cloud, no blue. I normally walk through the park to think and watch the passing scenery, like Thoreau's hillside sunset. Especially today, everything is soaked in rain as well; there's no where to sit, so I amble within the confined space of planted grass.

I watch for birds and small animals scurrying around, but none today. As I slowly pace around, there are planted trees with cages around them. Some small, others large, about 10 feet. I'm not sure yet what kind of trees are planted, there were three species including a pine of sorts. The pines, uncaged, did have long pieces of bark spiraled around the base of it, though. I wasn't sure why. It was done by an aesthetic hand, but for what purpose?

This area is full of grass and dotted with trees and has an odd feeling compared with other areas in the park. Maybe it's the visual obviousness of human interaction with the space, and I don't mean only the trees. There single bird feathers stuck in the tree cages. There are plastic food container thrown into some of the cages. There are beef jerky bags and plastic water jugs. There are bright blue plastic bags hanging from the broken limbs of fallen dead trees. There are two tall remaining trees in the middle of the open, one dead, the other alive, and no other tree is over 15 feet. Rocks are stacked and placed around. In one spot, someone started a staircase, but after three well-placed stones, ended the project for one reason or the other. There's another stone project much more complete, a semi-circle wall set into the hill, behind the stump of a small tree. After noticing the landmarks that demanded attention, I continue to explore the area.

It's unclear why the area is replanted. The entire space is on a slope, and on the upper half one type of grass planted. The blades are broader and dark green. On the lower half, the grass is thin and bright; it's more obvious that the grass was seeded. I continue pacing over the grass, within the border of felled trees that contain the grass, and finally walk to the top of the hill to stand. I stood for a while, watching the traffic through the trees. The rush of tires over the highway fills the background of my thoughts until I hear a branch crack and notice a deer. It grazes on the little bits of grass sticking through the snow and mud. Suddenly, two other deer move down the hillside. These doe and a stag search in near silence for food, barely noticing me. I stand as still and quiet as possible, but eventually they notice small movements and stare. They continued eating and me standing for ten minutes with no special spectacle. Eventually another stag and spike come along, but the rest began to move away, back the way they came. Stepping in the silent mud, instead of sticks and leave, I follow them, slowly.

Of course, they become scared and alert. White tails go up, but they don't rush away. The does run a few yards while the bucks stand and watch. The stalk goes on for the next twenty minutes. Slowly, I creep closer and closer until they are bothered, and then the cycle repeats. Over and over, I creep closer, and they run just out of sight up the hill. At the top, I spot them again and move in close until I lose them back down over the hill and into thick brush. On the way back through the brush, I came upon three more deer. A doe, spike, and another buck. The other had eight points on their horns, but this guy only had six points. Eventually, even they bound into the brush.

I head back to the car, glad I was in their way and they in mine. Our interaction pushing them and myself out of our regular course, disrupting the mental and physical path of our day.