Deer and the Sky Paths

In the long dew-dabbed grass a dappled doe and her fawn. The deer looked up, not sensing me, but with hazel ears high as if listening to what the clouds were saying as they sped past on the prow of the wind. I to look up, perhaps an eagle is near or some bothersome storm crow – no there was a distinct cloud chorus in the sky. I have been told that the First People could hear such voices. Today the wind is wild, yet the doe and fawn are not fearful merely alert, they know that the sky is speaking of paths. Paths to escape on, or other paths, unknown trails where every rock or tree is a spirit totem to discover. I also, sniff the vibrant air, tingle to its electric licks. The deer and her flaxen fawn turn towards me, pass me nearby, as if I were not there. Without further thought, I follow.