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| The Sighting How many times at the first hint of dawn has that creature walked upon the path of man? She steps nimbly out of the forest glen from darkness of the place she's been. The doe trembles and drops caution to graze, lest strength be neeeded to safely run. Morning dew shines as the soft head is bent for a rendezvous of completion with her intent. Mist rises from where hooves touch the ground and time becomes as her beating heart decrees. There is only now in this meadow's green where my searching eyes hold to what is seen. If that gentle soul should raise her head to meet my eyes upon her there; and move toward my breathless sigh... I would feel her velvet pulse pass by. The doe startles to a sudden sound unheard by my ears from a hiding place. Slender limbs pound a warning thrum and back into the shadows, run. |
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