About a week ago I started out early on my daily walk. My camera is always with me these days since I find myself stopping and admiring all the flowers and bushes that are putting on their early summer show. I am especially fond of black-eyed Susans, those wonderful yellow flowers with chocolate-brown centers. They stand proud and tall along roadsides and always seem to look fresh and cool in spite of the blazing sun that beats down on them all day long.
The morning held a hint of what was sure to be a high humidity day. My face was wet with sweat before I'd done my warm-up mile. Taking a quick drink of already tepid water from my bottle, I took off down the shady hill to the road below. I knew I needed to keep on going and not stop. Heat drains my energy quickly and I wanted to be sure and finish before my body yelled, "Quit! I've had enough!"
I took a rapid visual check as I turned on my upward climb. Roses, daisies, black-eyed Susans and other smaller flowers were still blooming on the rocky banks. On the last pull up the hill I allowed myself to stop, catch my breath, and take out my camera for a few quick pictures.
Being careful, I stepped across the ditch and started looking for a good angle to get some shots of the black-eyed Susans that looked so inviting, peeping out of the rocks and leaves on the roadside. Engrossed in getting the perfect lighting, I didn't pay any attention to what was happening about three yards up the road from me.
A still-spotted fawn had ventured out from the deep woods and was timidly making its way on pipe stem legs toward the other side of the road and the safety of its mother. If someone was watching, they would have seen a rather clumsy looking older woman, bending over some flowers with her camera, grunting and groaning as she tried to get the light just right. And right there, just a stone's throw away, a timid little fawn, staring at this strange creature. And in that little deer's brain there must have been an immediate signal that flashed, "Danger! Danger!"
Just as I turned to make my way back over the ditch to the road, I looked up to see the west end of an east bound fawn, bounding up the hill ahead of me, its little tooth pick legs moving at a rapid rate, trying to escape from that stranger with the camera. The fawn paused a moment. I raised my camera for a shot. It disappeared before I could even click the shutter.
And that's the story of the picture I missed.
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