Once again the spotted fawns were in the road tonight. At my approach, they sailed over the eastern fence then turned back, curious. Slowing to an easy stop, I lowered the window.
The delicate faces, uncommonly beautiful in the rich gloaming, paused, the Dreaming Earth observing the old world through newly minted eyes.
Their lives, like water, have no volition but move or not according to other forces. They live and die in the Mystery as water stills into an acquiescent mirror.
For a brief, barest moment, I understood...