The Gift

Story ID:	1003
Written by:	K. L. Farnum
Story type:	Story
Location:	Vine Grove U. S. A.
Year:	1966
Person:	To My Son, Michael

The Gift

The old man was setting on the weather-worn porch, looking off into the pasture below. His skin was drawn and dry from years of being in the sun. But his hands, although rough and cracked, were as nimble as those of a man of twenty. In his hands he held a small piece of rough wood, that with time was taking shape. His eyes sparkled as we talked, and once in awhile a smile would grace his lips. At one time I glanced into the pasture below to see what had drawn his interest. There standing out in the open, close to the fence line was a doe, she hadn't seen us, and as I watched, she moved about munching lazily on one clump of clover after another.

Being from the city, you don't get to see the rare beauty that lives in the forests and fields around you. As I set there listening to the stories told by the old man. I glanced around again to see the doe, and thought how beautiful she was? Her coat was the color of honey, and on her face was a small patch of white. Her ears stood erect, and when I could see her eyes, they were black pools, reflecting the world around her. Her tail was like a white flag.

In the blink of an eye she was gone, but not for me. Because I will always remember her. As I left that time and place, the old man gave me a gift. While we sat there chatting, he had whittled the doe. On my way back home, back to where the only wild life you might see would be the occasional squirrel or bird. I thought of the doe and wondered where she might be? and what she might be doing? When I got back home, I placed her on my desk as a daily reminder of the beauty that surrounds us, if only we open our eyes to see that it is there.

@ K.L. Farnum