Doe

Some evenings I sit and watch a herd of deer on my parent's land. It is a solitary thing, but I enjoy watching their habits and have come to recognize the individual does and the buck. Last year one of the does had twins, this year she had one fawn. Tonight, I noticed she and her fawn were lying at the edge of a wood. It was a strange place to lie down. They usually are so sensitive to any disturbance and I have walked almost upon them before noticing them. The doe got up and I saw the reason for the strange behavior. One of her front legs is lame. I don't know if it is broken or she has just pulled a tendon but she definately hobbles. The fawn followed her along. And then I saw it, another doe shadowing the injured one. As if she was watching out for the doe and her fawn ready to help care for the fawn should the injured mother fall prey to dogs or whatever. Did they mutually agree to raise this fawn? Or did the mother doe solicite the other? Or was it the other way around? I wish I could help the hurt doe. I am not too much of a sentimentalist. Deer are like mice around here and they need culling, but this is my small herd that I enjoy watching and studying. Of course, they are not mine, but they have made my heart glad watching them these past years. And now she is hurt. And I can do nothing but watch and hope it is just a strained tendon that will repair itself.

We have to hold everything so loosely on this earth. We never know when or how it will be snatched from our hand but we have to be ready for it and willing to let it go. Fighting for it is futile; the pull is stronger than our grasp. And yet, we have to believe that it is for a purpose that things are taken from us before due time and we must must always remember to be thankful for each precious day we are given with something we care for or someone we love.

Tonight, I continue to wait and I hurt with a longing that is indescribable. And I curse my silly hand for grasping after three years of patiently teaching it to relax and keep its palm open. And yet what did I do but grasped as soon as I was in my love's presence. Grasped like some wild, deranged, starved thing. Even while doing it my soul cried out for me to stop, but something so animal overtakes us when we are in the presence of something we have desired for so long and tried to teach ourselves that we did not really want. It overpowers us. Or is it only the weaker ones it overpowers? Or the ones who closed off their hearts?

I sit here in the fading light of the porch and I fear that he is gone from me. How can men do that? How can they compartmentalize and move on so well? Why is it that women love, even long after all hope is gone? Why this cruel trick? Keep putting one foot in front of the other I tell myself. But this salty fear in my mouth chokes me with worry and longing. Were there some way to train my hand to stay permanently open. Only God can unclasp these fingers now.