Mom, Sarah, and I were walking around the block today (not what you think--it's a farming community--blocks are 3 miles) and had a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We were nearing the end of our trip and walking a somewhat solitary strech of dirt road. To our right, some horses were feeding under a tree in a bare barnyard; to our left was an open field, green with young corn (or weeds; to be honest, I don't remember). Some movement caught my eye, and I turned to see a creature galloping straight for us. Its legs flailed with each bound, and, at first, I thought it was a funny looking hound. But as it neared, I realized it was a terrified young fawn, sprinting (like a chubby kid with a fistfull of dollars after an icecream truck) straight for us. Snorting and bleeting like a goat, it stopped just short of us; its mother and sibling looked on from a treeline at the other side of the field. The white spots on its sides quivered with each breath, and indecision marred its delicate countenance. The horses stamped their feet in the background, and, for a moment, the fawn debated crossing the road and joining them in their pasture. We were caught entirely off guard: I didn't know whether to reach out and stroke its silky coat, or to watch it in awe, or to run from it. As the shaking ball of nerves stood inches away, we herded it back toward its mother and the safety of the trees. At first unsure, the fawn trotted hesitantly through the field, looking again at the horses. We turned toward home, afraid that our presence might scare the doe into leaving her young. As we parted, I felt sure that we would not be meeting again; our four lives had been fleetingly connected; but only for a moment; sometimes a moment is all you get. It was amazing, yet sad. I hope it found the doe.