Communion

The soil massaged my soles as I jogged along the farmer's fence toward the lake behind his barn, dodging corn stubble and spring puddles and hoping for a sunset like two thousand trumpets blowing a fanfare. White tails soared across the tractor ruts Safely distant, the deer paused, asking questions with their ears. One small doe, prancing like a haughty ballerina, approached in the thickening dusk. The sun, a red penny, burned in her eyes. Only when the mocking bird in the hawthorn tree behind me finally corked his song did she amble away. Like whitecaps in choppy water the deer melted into the woods and left me standing in shadows, motionless as a statue, waiting for the bird to sing again and send me home.

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