Fawns in the twilight

It’s a gray breezy Wednesday forenoon. All the pretty sunshine of yesterday is of the past.

With the gloom there’s no inclination to be getting outside. That will come later.

Nice now to simply chip away at indoor stuff set aside with the fine days.

Many of the recent days have been dandy. The deck must wonder at its sudden popularity. 

Abandoned for so much of the year, and still largely deserted through the cool spring and our rainy middle part of June, it’s as if it’s been rediscovered.

In effect it has. It’s lovely to reclaim this outdoor space and squeeze the most out of it. Deck season is treasured when time with it is reduced to what amounts to a few summer weeks.

The other night I was on the deck. Or more accurately, I was back on the deck. I’d come inside thinking that was it.

 My reading, done in my chair angled to the late sun, was over as declared by the mosquitoes. They had started to come out, pester and buzz.

When the phone rang, and it was my friend, I braved the guarantee of mosquito bites to chat with her from the deck.

Visits take on the tone of the settings. The deck, with its casual vibe, is a beeline dive for me when a good visit is in store.

As we traded remarks a fawn emerged from cover where our lot line meets with our neighbor’s. The cute little creature, all legs and innocence, paused.

It fastened its look on me. It was more inquisitive than fearful. Youth generally is that way. A second fawn stepped out and then a third.

“We have three fawns in the yard,” I said to my friend. The trio planted themselves not far away with a showdown of sorts between us.

The fawns stayed put until after the phone visit. They should have been shooed away. They stood all alert with their triple gaze on me. It wasn’t in me to budge them.

They decided there existed in this yard no threat to them. They began to graze in the greenery at the borders. I didn’t much mind. There wasn’t anything particularly valuable in the way of precious specimens.

Fortunately they didn’t intrude on the garden despite its magnetic pull on the first fawn. It took tentative steps toward it, one foreleg raised. It calculated the risk of going nearer.

If the fawn, or its two shyer companions, came into the garden I would have bestirred myself. I’d have used my most authoritative voice to “scram them.”

It did seem a bother to disturb them as nightfall came tranquilly down. Luckily there was some invisible line they chose not to cross.

A passing car or some other disturbance caught their attention (ears, eyes and tails showed constant vigilance). Deliberately and without real hurry they retreated into the cover and were gone.

Soon an experience like this takes on the aspect of a dream. Probably not even a few tiny hoofmarks in the hostas remain to prove their visit. It doesn’t matter. It’s between them and me and makes a special memory. 

It's late June and the roses are newly out. Climbing roses are beautiful in the neighborhoods. They climb the fences and add color and scent. 

Gardens are pretty with their plantings. Fawns in the twilight will attest to that. It's a lovely time of year.

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 Ro Giencke – June 25, 2014