Fry and the fawn

A baby fawn was bleating for his mother last night while we were honeymooning. It’s the funniest sound, sort of like a baby crying through a kazoo, “mmmeee mmmmeee me…!”. It totally upstaged any vocalization of pleasure. Through the lace curtains, beyond the flickering candles, the fawn’s distress calls hooped over the red cedars and burst lightly onto our ears like bubbles: cute, constant and a little worrisome. Was a fawn caught in our fence? Fellow sighed with patient interruptus and went crashing out  at midnight into the brush with a flashlight and little else…which made me giggle. The fawn…

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post visitor anxiety

The house is empty after sixteen to twenty one people staying here over the past twelve days. After we waved good-bye to the last caravan headed for the ferry, the ever jovial Fellow hung his head and quietly said, “I’m not…doing so good.” I snuggled him into my neck and sniffled a bit myself and Nora clung to my side. “I’m gonna miss them.” She said. It’s hard to say good-bye when family is far flung and beloved. In the post wedding sorting of pie plates, three hundred napkins, someone’s forgotten shoe, dead flowers, broken toys and heaps and heaps…

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The Wedding

Though I had a great deal of fun doing a “countdown to the wedding” Vlog on facebook, tracking my home renovations with Nora, I have missed the art of arranging words beautifully. Oh how I love to fingertip my way through a bucket of colourful adjectives, plucking just the right posy to contrast with a woody noun, arresting my eye, making me look at its meaning afresh in a bouquet that describes my day. Andrea Isaak did my flowers for the wedding. This makes me think of her. I actually don’t know her all that well, but she’s the kind…

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