After high water, mud. The whitetail doe trapped on the island with her twins might find her way back to shore today. Her yearlings dash toward each other along the island’s muddy bank, hooves high-stepping and flipping mud and water as they pass. Prancing. As if on purpose. Daring. As though in fun.
Their mother is diligent in her caution, studying the man up river on the north shoreline. He has come carefully from the shrubs and the underbrush. He pulls driftwood from the river. As though on purpose. He studies the waves of water, then pokes dead tree limbs into the sandbar. Chanting as in praying. Dancing as if knowing tomorrow, another flood.