The Fawn

I saw the fawn on the road.
It was dead.
It had been hit by a car.
Blood encircled the fawn like a wreath.

I could see the spots that are the tell-tale sign of its age.
I wondered if the driver even knew they hit the fawn.
I wondered if it happened during the early morning hours.
I wondered how the mother deer must be feeling.

I was terribly sad.
I have seen dead animals on the road before.
For some reason, the death of this little fawn disturbed me.
The little fawn would not have a chance to run and leap in the woods.

I thought of The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.
I thought of the Baxter family living on a farm in Florida.
Penny Baxter and his wife Orry had one surviving son, named Jody.
Jody is lonely and longs for companionship, which he finds in an orphaned fawn.

Jody’s father seems to understand.
Jody’s mother does not understand.
She understands loneliness and isolation in her own way.
She clings to Jody, not wanting to lose him, too.

The Baxters are poor.
For Jody’s mother, taking care of fawn seems frivolous and expensive.
The conflict ensues.
How can Jody honor his parents and still assert himself as a young man?

The Yearling is a coming of age story.
It is about leaving youth behind.
It is about taking on adult responsibilities.
It is about death.

I saw the fawn and I understood.
There is a death of innocence.
The blood encircles it like a wreath.
Before the spots are gone, it is time to grow up.

There is an excitement about being on the threshold of adulthood.
There is also mourning.
There is something that has to be laid down in order for something else to be picked up.
Even when we pick it up, we still listen for the fawn.

We put our ear to the ground and we struggle to hear it.
We think we hear the sound of its hoofs.
We think that we will see it leap any second now.
But the fawn is gone; it is a memory as the spots fade.

I thought of the age of innocence.
Every mother hopes to keep her child there for just a little longer.
But that is not the way of things.
The sound of the hoofs gets fainter; we cannot see the spots.

Tears came to my eyes when I saw the dead fawn.
The tears surprised me.
I have not seen the innocence of my own childhood for many years.
That does not mean that I no longer listen with my ear against the ground.

There are many things to hear there.
The sounds are muffled.
Listening to even snippets of that sound, lights a spark inside me.
The spots are never really gone.

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea. Woe to the world because of the things that cause people to stumble! Such things must come, but woe to the person through whom they come! (Matthew 18:1-7)

Greatest in the Kingdom is a little child.
How can we protect their spots of innocence?
What must we do to help them grow but still find the fawn for a little while longer?
Have we stopped searching for the allusive fawn ourselves?

I mourned the death on the road.
I was Jody Baxter as I drove along.
I am still looking for the fawn.
May I never stop.