Lurking in the shadows

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The wooden porch creaks, I stop the sway of the splintered old chair in which I had been rocking so absently-mindedly, and the fawn that I have been watching scampers between the doe's steady legs. It is early morning, the scattered clouds overhead are as white as a baby's bottom, and the rays of the penetrating sun spew scattered patterns on nature's floor.


So I try to put them at ease. I uncross my legs slowly so as not to draw their attention. I steady the rocking chair and I become very still. I am as still as a thousand year old stone; stiller, in all reality.
I relax and then adjust my vision. I breathe softly, in measured breaths, and study these fascinating creatures anew. The distance is not close; indeed, there is an open field over which I must peer before reaching the edge of the wooded field where the doe keeps her fawn close by her side. The wheat in the open field rolls as the wind passes by, and the wooded field is studded with oak and pine. The fawn blends at times with the yellow of the wheat field and the brown of the woods. The fawn is at one moment visible and then nearly imperceptible; it is the down, with a darker brown color, that allows me to keep focused most precisely. The trees are crowded closely together, a shadow almost when compared with the brightly rolling yellow field of wheat, and the deer are perceptible only in their occasional movements. ...
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