Sleepy Fox Hollow sonnenaufgang

Anselm was a walking study of childlike awe as he kept pace with his father. Each token of interest Mahler showed him was investigated vigorously. The snail shells nearly smooshed under the excited heavy breathing of Anselm's snuffling, investigative nose. The slug trail scattered by his clumsy feet. The birds riled by his long stares.

But then came the doe. Anselm was mesmerized by those broad, gentle eyes. They were nothing like the eyes of his parents or siblings. They were a deep brown, beautiful as fresh tilled earth after rain -- and so round they reminded the boy of the bright moon.

Anselm was not aware he had never stopped walking. He was pulled to this deer, unaware of his father's mention of Phaedra or the question of what the thing should be called. Each step brought him closer to the thing that by all rights dwarfed him -- each step brought him closer to being absorbed within those bottomless, round, liquid eyes.