Yesterday morning I awakened to the smell of drop biscuits coming from the kitchen downstairs. Coffee was brewed, the biscuits were hot, and the kitchen was full of smoke. I swung open our back door.
Only a few feet away from me, down our back steps, a fawn lay sunning itself on the deck slats. She lay there, fixedly watching us as Martin and Merry both joined me at the door, and not until Merry began walking toward her did she scramble down the stairs and fly down our hill.
The sight of this grace and beauty has made me less upset about the beheaded rose bushes, and though we continue to spray with Liquid Fence, I am more content to share just a little every now and then.
One of the most exquisite things about building a garden is the birds that seem to have shown up in crowds to help us celebrate. And now a fawn has joined as well. Planting and caring for our little scrap of this world has brought us that much closer with the world itself, and now we suddenly care so much about weather patterns, wildlife, the warming of the soil every morning and the cool dew underfoot.
