The deer, they tell us, come right up to the windows.
My parents did, after all, build and operate the Deerland Motel. Deer have always been a part of our lives in some form.
So we move Mom into the room with the view.
I see a doe the next day, hidden way back in the tangled trees, but Mom can’t see it. In reality, sightings over the next few weeks are few.
The deer, they tell us later, “usually mean something.”
It’s Tuesday, so I’m posting over at BibleDude.net. Join me there for the rest of this story. Please?
Sharing with my Laura today.
And my Jennifer tomorrow.
