The Doe On a warm evening, walking the dog near the pasture, I saw an unusual event unfold in the distance: a doe and fawn, chased by a coyote; in an effort to keep up with its mother, running for her life, the fawn fell. The coyote approached the injured fawn. my dog, free from my grip, dashed to the predator, howling; the coyote fled. To examine the injured one, I got closer, and it limped away to its mom watching us from afar. When the young buck with the limp leg, excluded by his group, the doe joined him walking in the night, foraged together in the pasture or in my yard. The doe and the buck with the crippled back leg and lovely antlers; the nightly visitors, now, enjoy midnight snack on the leaves of my apple tree. The buck, his antlers reaching for the moon, his mouth to the apple; an art of nature. As I watch them in the moonlight, in awe for her motherly love, tear wells in my eyes. How long? She doesn't care; just live in the momentary joy. But she knows instinctively that her care for her son in the season will pay off; her son is well nourished and fat for the winter. The night stealthily moves on, and they trot off into the light of dawn. ©Byung A. Fallgren This piece was published in The Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry, Summer--2022. Thank you, Charles and Vivian for taking this poem.
Author: Byungafallgren
Stranger Things at the House
Stranger Things at the House With her absence, supposedly will return in weeks, I could not help but notice things pique my curiosity; seen through the door ajar, the bow and arrow laid across the bed. I'd rather not ask the son about it, lest he got mad for snooping. It could be the symbol of his or her fidelity or even a little religious gesture; or maybe he is preparing for a hunting trip, who knows. While in the laundry room, items, like photos in the frames, tucked in the corner, collecting dusts. Don't they deserve the better place to be stored? But, this time, too, I choose to remain silent, thinking: little squabble, a religious act or just forgot about them, and so forth. For whatever it may be, I'd imagine for a healthy tree than the withering flowers; our lives are full of shades and lights; like mountain and valley or rich and poor; I'd think light and then add more hues. ©Byung A. Fallgren

The Weekly Avocet
Home, finally
After some hectic days, feels good to be back. But I cannot shake off some guilt feelings for being away from writing. If anyone wondered what the heck happened to this lady, I apologize. Last a few weeks were full of events: covid, volunteering the service to care for the grandchildren, road trips, and so forth, and I am exhausted. Whew! I hope next summer will be much better. 😢

The Avocet
i love you to the moon
i love you to the moon Chen Chen not back, let's not come back, let's go by the speed of queer zest & stay up there & get ourselves a little moon cottage (so pretty), then start a moon garden with lots of moon vegies (so healthy), i mean i was already moon lighting as an online monologist most weekends, so this is the immensely logical next step, are you packing your bags yet, don't forget your sailor moon jean jackets while twirling in that lighter, queer moon gravity, let's love each other (so good) on the moon, let's love the moon on the moon Chen Chen is the author of When grow up I want to be a List of Further Possibilities (BOA Editions, 2017).
Palimpsest
Palimpsest Of all the good trails, i chose the muddy one that injured the bone; the pain, the passing years haven't erased it; cloudy days it still pulsates. wrinkled spirit, no cream can smooth it; like grumpy old friend, still there. but, why do you bother to delete it at all? Let it all fall to the sky of time. or, i would be born new in the sea; be a sister of the waves. ©Byung A. Fallgren