A fog encased morning's walk. Behind us another couple drifts in and out of the mist, silent, whatever words spoken are swallowed by the heavy wet air. It is a tapestry of spider webs, thousands visible in the heavy dew their occupants patiently waiting for Sun to restore the subterfuge. And then, almost magically and without a sound, shapes bob into view up ahead as doe and three fawns jostle in confusion on the road's edge. She can't seem to decide which side offers the best protection and for a long while nervously leads her fold on the road in front of us. Big ears turn and twist to harvest faint sounds. The fawns flinch at the sound of their own clumsy footfalls, ready to bolt, prancing nervously on the pavement. Finally mom leads them through the ditch and into the cornfield. The road is empty and silent except for the sniffing sounds of the dog, decrypting the deer smells left behind.

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