Sunday, June 15, 2025, 43.8* 0704
I could see the bright yellow cup before I pushed the brew button. Eager to reach the fenced-in land, the three walked as if nothing was there, so they missed the Rosy Maple Moth resting on the deck.
Zayne ran to the fence looking, standing where last night Zsolt, stone still watched a very tall doe come into the opening. She looked at me determining whether or not to present her fawn. I wanted the communion to continue. Deer slept in this opening last fall.
For moments, Zsolt and I watched the tall doe and her fawn. Our communion shattered as Zayne bolted from the touch of my hand barking, jumping, charging toward this vision of innocence. The fawn ran. The doe snorting watched, turned ran. Her white tail distinguished her briefly from the trees.
Oblivious to learned commands: Leave. Stop. No. Zayne performed his genetic duty.
Photo: LJ Austin
