In nature, when a mother deer or its fawns need a break, the doe stashes her babies and tells them not to move until she comes back for them.

In the places near the outskirts of town, where houses have encroached on their space, the does bring the fawns to places like my herb garden to put them down for a nap.

“Here,” Mama says. “You lie down and have a nap by this lavender, or over by that big rosemary bush while I go find your brother. Now don’t move and you’ll be safe.”

“Okay, Mama. Ooh! This smells yummy.”

“Ah, there you are, little brother, having a nap by the lemon balm. Come on, my boy. Let’s go back and get your sister.”

“Okay, kids. Just eat the little dandelion leaves. The grass isn’t all that nourishing, but a dandelion salad is good for you.”

F is for fawns eating the weeds by the flowers in my herb garden.

Then I had an afterthought. F could also be for their father. So here you have the mothers and fathers of fawns in the days when they were very hungry and I fed them for a while.

 

F is for fawns, their fathers, flowers, food, and a fine day.