We were standing there in the parking lot, me watching the orange glow of sunset fading over his shoulders. Discussing his retirement plans, and the possibility of the wife and I buying the two plots he and his wife own in the cemetery across the street.

He bought them way back when they were just $25 each. Came home, and said "Honey, I bought you a present."

"But I don't want you to use it right away."

And then we both noticed the dark shadows darting through the trees and gravestones.

Deer.

In a hurry.

That's odd. Most times they loiter their way through the graves, with not a care in the world.

So, he went inside, back to his hunter safety class (which I forgot and was almost a half-hour late to), and I to see what was going on in the graveyard.

It was the usual summer (and fall, and winter and spring) parade of vehicles wandering the narrow lanes between the stones, looking at the deer. At least four vehicles creeping along in the semi-dark, their red brake lights flaring like beacons whenever the driver spots a deer.

We got a band of at least eight bucks there now, one of which is quite impressive in his heavy velvet. Tends to draw a crowd.

But most folks meander slowly, barely causing an ear twitch by any of the deer. But one, a red and white van, is hounding the big buck, trying to get closer and closer, driving him to the southern wall, and spooking the does and fawns in the process.

I creep in without headlights, guided by the beams of other vehicles, and park silently. The van makes another close pass by the buck, who sidles back behind them, out of their lights. The van heads to the end of their row and turns to circle back again.

Their headlights sweeping the length of my rig. Highlighting, I'm sure, the shield on the door.

Ooops.

No more creeping for the van. They make a steady, but careful to not look too hasty, path to the exit. I note their plate number, and wait until they're back out on the main street.

A typical summer evening in the cemetery, I'm sure.

And home to dinner I go.