Their brother sometimes comes with them But mostly, they come alone--just the two of them. They are getting braver which may not be a good thing, in the end. They don't startle at every sound. The man next door walks down his driveway towards the garbage cans. The cans make a noise as he tosses in his trash. They glance his way for a moment, then continue grazing. They are not bothered by the cardinals and chickadees feeding. One of them watches the feeder swing, perhaps interested in the seeds. When the older brother, born the year before them, comes, he stands back and watches. He might eat a kernel of corn. I've seen him lick them and clean their ears--copying what their mother did for them. They lick each other now that she's gone. Someone said they saw a deer carcass at the abandoned house on Traylor road. Buzzards were hovering around. It was probably their mother--she's been absent for two weeks now. She probably went there to die quietly. The fawns will survive the coming winter. They are putting on weight. I put out the corn everyday for them. (c) Glenda Kotchish 9/28/2021
Someone planted the seeds.
Before that, plowed the field to plant the seeds
Before that, bought the tractor, to plow the field, to plant the seeds,
Before that, acquired the land, bought the tractor, to plow the field, to plant the seeds
Before that, studied farming, acquired the land, bought the tractor, to plow the field, to plant the seeds
~ ~ ~
Somewhere the wind is blowing on a field made ready for the planting of oats
As she eats a bowl of oatmeal, drizzled with honey
That came from a box
Shipped from a factory
Processed by a mill
And before that someone planted the seeds.
~ ~ ~
She eats as she browses the web
Without thought or gratitude
For the planting of the seeds
That she is me.
© Glenda Kotchish
July 1, 2019