Quiet forest where the snapping of one branch will cause Mother Nature to turn her head. A doe with neck stooped down gently drinking from a stream, raises up and pauses. Eyes wide and minimally blinking. There is the sound of rushing water, birds chirping, the rustling of branches in the wind. She has cute little ears that stick up, oscillating, turning, confirming. Nostrils of her black nose flare and pulse. Hooves hold their ground. If you could only hear her heart beating fast. Internal drum that marks the rhythm of every movement and emotion. Her collective unconscious knows the sound could mean death. There are no diplomatic channels when it comes to the hunter and the hunted.

Her child, a baby fawn, peers out of a leafy bush. Nose also pulsing, seeming to ask if it’s okay to come out. Doe scans the area once more with her eyes and finding nothing, permits young Fawn to come have a drink by the water. White spots dot the fawn’s tan backside. A bushy white tail freely bounces back and forth in the joy of a cool drink.

A buck appears with strong irreconcilable antlers. He is towering and formidable. Protectively, he steps in front of his family. Hearing no sound he still makes a point to scan the area, to make sure it’s okay for him to come off his guard for a single minute so he may also take a drink. Satisfied with the visual landscape, he also bends his head, his horns a crown he wears that bears the burden of fatherhood.

The forest smells of wood and earth and decomposing leaves. Pines also pervade, evergreen trees. Smells a car air freshener couldn’t even begin to accurately capture. There is no difficulty on a deep inhale such as this.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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