First Fawn

There's a new resident of the fields and forests of Ozark County, and at our place, it's the first fawn of the year. We saw it a week ago, on what was probably its first day on the planet, a tiny thing with spindly legs, sticking to its mother like a teenager to her cellphone.

In one week, it's grown a lot and gained a little independence...

...and a lot of curiosity. Every blade of grass is a wonder to the small creature. 

Come to think of it, every blade of grass is a wonder.

This spotted adventurer can change direction in a hurry when its mother signals "dinner time".

It flies like an arrow out of a bow...

...back to its mother's side.

Life is good.

Note: In the images with 2 fawns, they are not twins, but blended photos of the same fawn.

Linking with Saturday's Critters

Mother's Prayers

Our first roses are blooming, just in time for Mother's Day. This bush rose is Crown Princess Margareta. I cut one rose today and put it in a vase on the kitchen table, and the fragrance is exquisite.

I'm posting this Saturday night and hoping tomorrow at church we don't sing that Mother's Day song, If I Could Only Hear My Mother Pray Again. Not that it isn't a lovely song. I can usually manage to get through the first verse dry-eyed, but by the second verse I'm reaching for a kleenex, and by the third, it's all over for me. Why is it that the good memories are the ones that make us cry? 

My Mother would talk to God about everything. She expected Him to answer her, and He did. When I was in the fifth grade, our family moved from Washington State to Northern California, and I missed my old school and friends. When waves of homesickness washed over me at night, Mom was by my bedside, praying for me, and singing in her clear, sweet voice,

Oh, how praying rests the weary!

Prayer will change the night to day; 

So when life seems dark and dreary,

Don't forget to pray.

It wasn't long until I had adapted to my new environment and made friends, and when I think of my childhood home, it's usually the California home I think of.

Mom talked to God about the dress I desperately wanted for Christmas one year, when new dresses weren't in the budget. She didn't mention it to anyone else, but shortly before Christmas, there was a package in the mail with the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen. It was an off-white, A-line with bell shaped sleaves and lace. It was my size, of course, and brand new, from a cousin who didn't want it, but for me, it was perfect. 

When something got lost at our house, Mom prayed about it, because, she said, God knew exactly where it was. If it didn't show up right away, it did when we needed it. She prayed for her neighbors and her friends, and everybody at church, and she prayed for her kids. She prayed for her kids a lot.

If prayers are like a sweet fragrance to God, I like to think that my Mother's prayers haven't dissipated over time, as roses do, but continue on, wafting their perfume from the kitchen table in heaven.

First posted on May 7, 2011