Sometimes care means stepping closer. Sometimes it means stepping away.

Aaw...aaw   the plaintive call came intermittently from the woods behind our house. At first, I thought it was a crow, but the sound wasn't harsh enough. Then I thought perhaps a bird in distress. It is the season when a snake can make a quick meal of the eggs hidden in a carefully constructed and protected nest. 

But no, it got softer, not louder, and was not agitated enough to be a distress call.  As I walked towards the edge of the woods, a tiny spotted fawn came bounding towards me, bleating at me. It came right up to me and nuzzled me, clearly hoping I was its mother. It couldn't have been more than a couple of days old, still wobbly on its twiglike legs. I felt its nose against my leg, searching for sustenance. My own maternal instincts welled up, and it took all my willpower not to scoop up this tiny baby in my arms and comfort it. 

But nature has her own rules. My attempts to nurture and comfort would only have made survival harder for this little guy. After snapping a few quick photos, I stepped away and let it wander back to its hiding place in a nearby brush pile. Now I knew why I had seen a doe hiding in the corner of our yard a couple days previous, stealthily leaving when she thought no one was paying attention. 

The brush pile which only an hour before I had considered an eyesore I now see as a place of refuge. I want to build a fence around it and stand guard to make sure nothing can hurt this little baby. But that will only draw attention to it, the exact opposite of what its mother intended. 

I need to go inside and tend to my own family and trust that this mama will take care of hers.