It is the season of camouflage.
The bark, grasses, goldfinches crowding the feeder, and the deer match: all fawn and sable and deep gray. So camouflaged are fauna that they are indistinguishable from tree and ground cover, until, that is, someone moves.
Something moved a while ago when I walked up to the deck after filling the bird feeder -- a small herd of seven deer. They scavenged the ground and then arranged themselves against a fallen tree for more sleep.