Fawn sleeps for two days,
nestled behind the wood pile,
tipped over by mama.
She appears at a distance
to check her treasure,
then, on the third day
fawn and mama reunite.
I admire twenty-nine years
of transformation in land
carved by river and we humans
who tend it. Loss of oaks to disease
opened spaces for gardens
and flourishing of flowers
and apple trees, giving way
to de-gardening now,
as age takes hold and less is more.
The land and I shift together,
each seeking authenticity,
freedom from constraint.
Each trusting the process of change,
letting go into what is now the need,
available for new life.
Land and the creatures who visit
teach me that what appears as loss
is also the doorway for new life—
the surprise of fawn trusting,
in her sleep, that all is well.
(Image my own)
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