[I’m currently working on a short story about rescuing the fawn I call Cairn. Here are a few words that I wrote on the day of her rescue. This is a work in progress and rather rough.]
Tiny hooves dance across the chambers of my heart. Her cry for help becons me into the wild. The call of the heart, like the cry of a fawn, lost and forlorn, easily ignored and covered up with so much to do. I call her Cairn. Wedged between two boulders and crying for help, she is like all of us who get stuck between a rock and a hard place fighting like hell to get out of all that bogs us down, only to dig ourselves deeper in with each fighting breath.
I call her Cairn because she marks the way forward: a beacon of hope in a prickly forest of thorns.
I call her Cairn because her beauty is held gracefully upon four tiny hooves.
I call her Cairn because she’s a joyful reminder that the creative is found everywhere and in all living beings.