The Fawn in Barb's Butterfly Garden

It was early. My husband came into the bedroom to wake me up: "Come on, there's a fawn in your meadow!" he said. But it wasn't the meadow he meant. It was Barb's butterfly garden. And I went out to the living room window and looked, and indeed, there was a spotty fawn, neatly tucked into the edge of the little garden. I quickly grabbed my camera and took about two dozen shots, through the window.

The little fawn was beautiful, and I'm pretty sure it is the same one that Mama Deer tucked into the meadow last week. I felt many of the same things I did then: joy, excitement, protectiveness, and also fear for its safety. It is such a little creature. How could it be left alone like that?

But the fawn settled on in, took a little bath, and napped throughout the morning. There was a parade of tractors in honor of the July 4th weekend, mid-morning; the loud rumbly noises made their way past our house twice, but the little fawn was stalwart, and it did not move!

Shortly after noon, the fawn stood up, did some pretty little stretches, and moved off into the shady woods. I have not seen it since, so I presume it met up with its Mama again shortly after, as there is a small group of deer that often moves through our yard in the early afternoons.

It is July now. June is the month my big sister Barb was born, and we always tried to make plans to do something fun in June, like go to the beach. But July was the month she died, two summers ago, on one of the hottest days, and I have been struggling ever since. Especially with July. It's too darn hot. All the fun stuff is cancelled. Again. And my sister is still dead.

My sister was a great big light in my life that was there the whole time I was alive, loving me and looking out for me, and I can't see that light now (though I remember it well), and that makes me very sad sometimes. I am trying NOT to be a sad girl, to remember and be grateful instead, that she was even here. I am walking toward gratitude. More like stumbling, some days. I am trying.

The little fawn's visit to her garden seemed like some kind of a sign from her - this is a place where new life begins - and it made me feel very, very happy. Every time I looked out and saw it, licking itself, nibbling on some nearby plant (yes, baby, you may have any and ALL of the fancy salvia that is left; no, I don't care at all, go right ahead!), it made me smile.

One of the things my big sister loved to do was to give silly names to the creatures that came to her yards (for yes, she owned many properties). I recall with some amusement Chanel No. 5, the skunk that she was feeding, not entirely by accident. And so we named the little fawn Twinkletoes, and I laughed; and I could imagine my sister laughing, too, like the sound of small, tinkling bells on the wind.

Twinkletoes the fawn, in HER butterfly garden.

Barb would have liked that.

Why I chose this photo out of the many I took: I liked the way the fawn's nose was tilting upward in this shot, as though it sensed . . . that she was near.

The soundtrack song is a lullaby for a baby deer: Eddie Vedder, with Dream a Little Dream.