There are secrets in the forest, quiet movements of coming and going. A communion of deer reaching out with delicate tongues for the Host, administered by an invisible priestess. If you hold your breath you might hear their murmured Amens, see the green shoots as the body of their god moves gently in response. I was thinking as I walked, 'Where are the deer?' and I looked up to see one regarding me placidly. Then there were five more and two off in a thicket by themselves. Theirs is a language of movement, of gestures. They have no secrets; they are like the books on the table by the window that you meant to read. You walk by today, tomorrow. Soon, you cannot see them.