stopping in a glen on a summer evening

dark green smell and twilight noises;
her little hand soft in mine
her little voice clear and fine
up the hill chattering small animal voices
hers and theirs both I suppose

then a gasp, a quick look, tense pose
we all stopped, breath quickly froze
young to old, known to new, waiting, wondering what to do
we, the mothers, loosened, breathed, saw our eyes and then knew

with no words, but metered gaits 
glances relaxed after the wait
mothers know
human or doe
that girls and fawns in shady trees
will be safe when a mother sees

in the quiet of that hour
tangible with our feminine power
we allowed slow time to flow
teaching our young how to grow

when we left that little glen
no bolt was launched by us or them
a simple look, two goodbyes exhaled
one wave by hand and one by tail.

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