The deer appeared in the lower paddock.                       
Fourteen in all, a herd, white tails held high                        
against the melting snow.                                                   
Even the crows are silent,                                                
for a moment.                                                                  
My daughter and I inch forward,                                     
But still they start                                                            
And bound smartly over our fence                                   
and our neighbors',                                                        
effortlessly flying through the air,                                     
one after the other.                                                          
The smallest seemed lost for a moment, unsure of herself, 
wandering back and forth along the fence                         
as her world leapt away.                                               
She disappeared behind a tree                                        
and flew to join the others.                                              
Our horses whinnied                                                      
and returned to their hay.                                             

Eugene J. Fisher


send me your poem, fiction. any kind. any style. anything. and let me know how you'd like to be credited. 

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