You know how incensed I get when the local deer rip out my plants? And how I yell and bark at them to no avail? Well, I take all that back every year around this time, when our hill becomes a fawn parking lot.
We do have a set of twins up there but it’s the only child, Fawnville, who entertains us daily. Fawnville started off wobbly and uncertain, but he’s now into dizzying sprints. His mom has to trail after him; keeping him out of mischief is a full time job. She already looks weary, kind of like other parents in quarantine. I keep reminding her that this, too, shall pass. In the meantime, I am silent as they rip out the remaining periwinkles.