The gravel road stretches out ahead of me. in the misty dusk The corn has turned, stalks gently catching the breeze, waving like a golden sea in sunset. The landscape is brick and sienna. It’s that magic hour where the light shifts and darkens, Where day cascades into night in brilliant shadows. But I am thinking of spreadsheets and budgets as I drive. At once, a doe emerges from the timber, ears up, eyes alert. When she sees me, she freezes on her delicate legs, so bronze and slender, blending into the leaves and rocks and dust. I slow, and silently urge her to cross. She is tentative, and her eyes turn back. Two tender fawns tiptoe out on the road. Our gaze meets. Hers beseeching, mine urgent. How can I be bothered with spreadsheets and budgets in the face of a prayer? I edge forward, then stop completely. Go, Mother, I think, Telegraphing a message. You are safe. You are all that exists in this moment. And she bounds Lighter than air, a miracle, her fawns following close behind like ripples in the golden ocean of trees and corn, And disappears into the dusk.
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Just lovely. Thank you.