Resilience
Yesterday was an exercise in resilience: for every ahhh! there was an oh-NO! For every beauty, a corresponding ugliness in a day of peaks and troughs. Early in the morning, I had a tranquil moment of satisfaction upon completing a writing task, patting myself on the back and ready to treat myself to a few minutes on the porch to take in the morning. I noticed the dog coming in, then out of the edge of the woods along the pasture, furtively, as if he could not quite decide what to do next.
Then, he decided. He would show his latest find: a fawn born so recently it still showed a bloody spot at the umbilicus. The dog didn't intend to eat it. But in the process of repeatedly bundling its long legs in his mouth to bring it out for display, it was nearly dead by the time I reached it. The dog relinquished it, not easily, but not running away with it as he does a groundhog or other "food".
It was barely bigger than a jack rabbit. Holding it by the back legs at the level of my belt, its lifeless front hooves didn't touch the ground. Was it afraid? Did it suffer? Had it ever even moved from the place where it was dropped by the doe, no more than a few hours before?
And a short while later, I was back inside, lost in the daily flood of emails, deadlines, and plans, thinking in the back of my mind of how tenuous and fragile is this life I take for granted. Some lives last less than a single day, while others rise and fall through thousands and tens of thousands of them. Somehow that thought made each moment of my Thursday, good and bad, more precious. And life goes on.
Comments
you seem to be waxing poetic lately - thoroughly enjoying what each moment brings - how refreshing - thanks for helping each of us do that as we read your words we're drawn into that silent space of one consciousness and there with you experiencing it. we've had some equally sad moments on the farm this spring - losing a colt (the umbilical cord broke during delivery and it suffocated before it was born) and a calf and now doctoring a prized angus beef cow. this was her first pregnancy - she panicked on delivery and fell - bruising her back badly - and delivered the calf in water - the cow not able to get up to help herself or the calf. it drowned and we're not sure if she'll make it. but on the other side of things - there are wedding plans coming together for July 15th - a daughter's move to a new home - visitors from France. All is good - as you've said. Thanks for the ramble - hugs from PA
Con
Posted by: connie | June 23, 2006 9:06 AM
Fawns are so beautiful and so fragile. Several years ago while still living in the country I was on the lawn tractor and noticed some commotion in the brush on the other side of a fence. Went to check and found a fawn with back leg caught in the fence. It cried and struggled as I tried to pry the fence apart to free it. Ran to get the wire cutters and finally freed the leg. The fawn struggled to get up, but just couldn't and was clearly in pain. I climbed the fence and tried to help but the leg was dislocated at the hip and badly lacerated. I managed to carry her to my station wagon and rushed her to my vet. She continued to cry and so did I. The vet team (great husband and wife in Fork Union, VA) tried to get the leg back in the socket to no avail and later that evening euthanized her. I know it wasn't my fault, but I still felt so guilty that the noise of the mower scared her and caused her to try to jump the fence. Life does go on, but I still think of her and wish the outcome could have been different.
Posted by: Georgia | June 23, 2006 9:35 AM
I was just thinking of "baby deer in the tall grass" season recently, thinking about how much it shakes things every summer on Goose Creek... brings back vivid memories...
Posted by: nate | June 23, 2006 2:31 PM
That deep poignant feeling occurs when I look at our tiny blue dragonflies out in the reeds by the lake. One day is all they've got, to do everything.
Posted by: Bonita | June 23, 2006 5:33 PM
I can so relate. Yesterday evening, my cat killed the bluejay baby I'd been watching grow up. As dusk fell, it's parents called for it. Heart breaking...
Posted by: Robin Fletcher | June 23, 2006 6:00 PM
What did you do with it?
Posted by: Link | June 23, 2006 7:19 PM