Fawn

One year the road crews got a deal on brilliant white marble chips and used them to disguise the potholes and washouts along the road as soon as the mud stabilized in the spring. The result was that our lumpy little road suddenly became a fairy tale lane aglitter with sparkling gems and alight from within. One sunny afternoon after this dazzling transformation and before the dairy farm’s industry dulled its luster, I was driving down one of these never never stretches, when I spotted a dark blob silhouetted up ahead in the middle of the lambent road.

“A pox upon these slovenly spreaders,” I thought as I approached. And then I thought the blob moved. I slowed down in case my mind was suddenly gone. And then the blob changed shape. I slowed some more. And then the blob resolved itself into a deer standing in the middle of the road. Now I was down to a dead crawl. I was almost upon her.

She twitched and dithered and finally soared into the woods next to the road. I was nearly at the spot where she had been, but there was still a blob. A very small blob, which finally staggered to its tiny wobbly feet and staggered in the direction its mother had gone.

I stopped the car on top of the blob site and got out to look. There was a pretty good sized berm beside the road here, beyond which was a deep ditch. Then the hillside rose steeply into the trees. There was no sign of the deer. There was also no sign of the fawn. I couldn’t believe the little creature could have made it up onto the berm much less down into the ditch and up the other side. I walked up and down the road peering into the ditch, looking behind bushes, parting the grass. Nothing. I was standing on top of the berm about to throw in the towel. I looked down to find a foothold. There was a big leaf there. I lifted it up and there was the infant, folded neatly into a tiny speckled mound, like an exotic dessert, absolutely motionless except for its long velvety nose. I studied it carefully, its little legs folded up like carpenters rulers, its velvety ears pressed close to its neck, its long, soft nose moving almost imperceptibly, just as it was in utero.

Jim would love this, I thought. It was only a quarter mile back to the house. I backed away and studied the trees, the bushes, a mossy rock, so I could come right back here, and then went home.

We returned in minutes. I had no trouble finding the trees, the bushes, the mossy rock, but I could not find the fawn. I couldn’t believe the little fellow would have sprung to his feet and scampered off so soon. The both of us walked up and down the road looking into the ditch. Then I saw my big leaf. I bent double and looked under it. It was still there, still immobile, with its waffly little nose still probing its small world.

Now, I have read about cryptic coloration allowing moths and lizards to blend into their surroundings. I have seen photographs of zebras under trees and leopards in them, but it is my belief that this went far beyond that. This was not optical trickery. This was pure witchcraft.