The Forest Has Ears

A brown swallow settles comfortably in his nest in the old oak tree, mottled feathers warming its small body. Its beady, tracking eyes watch curiously as the white-tailed fawn stumbles into the forest for the second time. No hovering mother accompanies her this time, the swallow notices. He ruffles his feathers as the baby deer forays through the trees, sniffing the dead leaves sticking out of the snow. She steps carefully over broken sticks and branches, around rocks and icy pools of water.

She stops suddenly, ears pricking up. The swallow had heard it too: the sound of sharp metal snapping against the biting winter wind. The fawn, knowing no better, keeps exploring. Curiosity is a dangerous, deadly thing for a child.

The fawn steps lightly into the down piles of snow, silently conquering the white mounds in her path. The swallow watches, entranced almost, the white of her tail flicking up every so often. Her quiet skips and jumps through the snow hold innocence like that of a child unborn, and the swallow pays no mind to the guilt weighing on his feathers like a blanket.

The doe prances delicately out of his sight, and the swallow ruffles his feathers again, discontent. The forest is no place for her to be alone. Her mother ought to see to it that she knows that, he figures.

But what does a swallow know about the business of deer?

He closes his eyes against the silence and fights his uncertainty gnawing at his quick beating heart.

Loud footsteps wake him. He blearily watches the fawn’s mother plod carelessly through the dead leaves that stick up stubbornly through the snowfall, step forcefully on broken twigs and branches, and jump over the rocks and icy pools of water adorning her path.

She grunts loudly, the sound echoing through the fores.t the silence of the woods swallows her call. She bleats again frantically and listens into the silence, hearing something that sounds suspiciously like an answering call. She takes off toward the sound. The swallow shuts his eyes again to let sleep retake him.

A shotgun rings out once, twice. A soul escapes its borrowed body. A mother’s cry pierces the ears of the forest.

A brown swallow settles uncomfortably in his nest in the old oak tree. He makes no noise.

The forest is silent once more.