Cabin Fever Fairy Tale

Of all the fevers, cabin is my favorite with Johnny at a distant second.  Cabin fever is so easily cured; just walk out your door!  After spiking the day before, I hustled everyone out of the house by 8am with the promise of nothing; no plan, only the great outdoors.  Momma knows.  Just go with it.  Yes, I will carry the granola bars.

The snow was thigh-deep at the trail’s entrance but what seemed like pure foolishness immediately gave way to wonder.

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We were a noisy, grumbling, bristly bunch but she didn’t seem to mind.

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The kids fed off my excitement, quieting their bodies and voices as we grew closer, enjoying the pursuit.

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We saw a lot of deer during our mid-winter break in Mont Tremblant but none that flirted so brazenly.

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(I feel the same way, Deer.)

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She eventually darted off, prancing through the snow, rounding the bend where fairy tales begin for those who dare step outside their door.  I longed to follow her but three-year-olds and six-year-olds can be quelled for only so long.  Momma knows.  I savored the moment then returned my attention to mittens and those granola bars.

It wasn’t until hours later that my laptop showed me what my camera could not; my fair lady was wounded on both back legs.

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There was no blood on the trail and we were gentle in our curiosity but now that I know she was hurt I cannot stop thinking about her.  I’ve heard that once you become a mother there is no such thing as “someone else’s child” and for me this has extended to every living creature.  That poor baby.  Perhaps when she pranced around the bend it was to her mother she was returning, a mother who would lick her wounds and nuzzle her down to a long winter’s nap.  There are fairy tales all around us and this is one I tell myself as we return home, fever vanquished.

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