Veering Off a Traditional Thanksgiving Theme….

I chose to share a published poem about a doe for my November Blog because I have seen deer roaming in fields, scattering across busy roads and heard a beautiful story from a friend about a fawn, left by its mother, in my friend’s backyard.

My friend contacted a farmer who told her when a mother deer needs to travel long distances and knows her fawn is incapable of making the sojourn, she will seek out and find a safe haven for her offspring.

On this particular occassion, the doe chose wisely as my friend made certain the young had water and food. Made certain neighbors and visitors maintained their distance as not to corrupt or interfere with the fawn’s natural, wild upbringing.

“Having a fenced in yard helped,” my friend admitted.

Did the mother realize the importance of a gated lot, a play-pen for her fawn? Of the compassionate homeowner? Of the future impact upon a community’s relationship with wildlife?

Three days later, the mother reappeared and strode off with the babe at her side.

I am grateful for my friend’s experience, for her wisdom to share the story, for the doe who imparted her grace and wisdom and for me to have the opportunity to expand upon a wonderful story.

I wish all a Happy Thanksgiving!

Suburban Back Road

As I drive up the hill
on a local back road,
Dwight Road to be exact,
Monmouth County Number
12 West to be precise.
As I attempt to avoid
displaced traffic on Highway 35,

she’s caught my eye.
In the midst of modern
hurried Saturday stress,
I wonder if the proud homeowners,
or anyone else for that matter

notice her,

the lifeless doe
lying upon her leaf-lined coffin
with black, saucer eyes

still wide open.
Either way, there she lay.
Her firm, youthful body
upon dead leaves;
her long, ivory neck
stretches out

contrasting dark green ChemLawn.

Driving blindly upon the peak,
here, on this suburban back road,
on this old time country horse farm;
Explorers whiz by on already explored,
tamed territory; white Civics,
zip along publicly corrupt asphalt.

Despite the surrounds of death,
she radiates,
divinely dressed in her
tan-camouflage fatigues

Peering through the rearview mirror,

I watch her image ascend.

Published by Atlantic Highlands Herald, 2002