A Guest

A single fawn has taken to bedding just outside our daughter's window. Nestled between a sweetbay magnolia and the warm stucco wall, the fawn disappears upon a bed of fallen leaves.

(The magnolia is an evergreen that loses its leaves all year-round, which means no matter how voraciously the friendly microscopic beasties in the soil munch away, there is always a soft bedding of leaves beneath the tree.)

The fawn is always alone, and seems to walk with limp, its back legs moving stiffly, well past the time of newborn awkwardness.

So I don't know if it has been abandoned, or chooses to be alone. I don't know if it is happy or sad, at ease or just hanging on. Perhaps it comes out of despair, or perhaps it just wants some time to itself, an uncrowded space free of the demands of display, expectations, comparisons or performance. Perhaps it just likes the view.

The windows of the house there are easily at fawn-eye-level, and the fawn stood for a long time yesterday looking at them. I wonder if it saw its reflection, and if so, was it annoyed at this silent trespasser, this loiterer who crashed its secret place? or was it thinking that finally there was another else like him (her?) to play with, someone who could finally understand?

I am waiting for the fawn this morning, eager to see how it fills its place today.


(photo: the place where the fawn lies - though he/she is not there now)