"This is June, the month of grass and leaves . . .
already the aspens are trembling again,
and a new summer is offered me."
(Henry David Thoreau, Journal, June 6, 1857)
Observations On A June Morning
By f.hume aka ice...June 2003
The doe crops differently today
Avoids the walk to sweetness
Found in middle field, but chops
And rips at wood-edge, stubble.
From my hide I watch her,
Nervous-uneasy, a chestnut shadow
Moving slow along the shaded furrow,
June rain has carved into a ditch.
A copse is near, Beech children
Close spaced, rise from one mother.
There she hides turning circles,
Bleating pain at each contraction.
Two soft feet, and a head appear
The membrane tears;
And the bloody mess of afterbirth,
Beholds a spotted, living mass.
June days bear weight of summer
Close and heavy, fly's buzz early
No breeze at play in aspen leaves
To stay them from their aggravation.
Whose plan is this anyway?
To sting the newborn fawn seems sin
No Just-God would deliver;
I glance around but nothing stands,
To say for me that answer;
So I rise to leave,
And join the ranks of men.