Now there were two fawns on each side of the property with me in the middle with my tea.
The second fawn sized me up as I did her. She was not as bold. She would not cross close from behind as her daring friend. Instead, this shy fawn proceeded nimbly up hill into the woods. She stopped midway in the lot to look at me, then circled wide over to the first fawn.
They were side by side now, my two Bambis.
There they waited together, staring, warily.
I heard the leaves, though this time there was no tumble-down sensation as when children roll down a grassy knoll.
What was this?
And then, patiently …
Two mature deers appeared, Ma and Pa I presumed. They were aware of my presence. They sauntered down as if they owned the place, serene as a Stoney Hill morning filled with the trilling and chirping in a bird sanctuary.
The four deer stood momentarily, all of us now staring at each other. With the bob of the head and flip of the tail, the crossing guards moved the brood toward the two-lane road, moseying along the side of the house, nonchalantly, as if I was just another neighbor amongst the fauna.
As my friend Patrice is accustomed to saying of the shore’s pleasant ways, “Sag Harboris pretty special, huh?”
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