Three little girls bound onto the bed in the spare bedroom where we sleep, giggling and squealing and making tents with the covers. It has become part of the morning routine when we visit them in the old two-story house the family has been renting in New Jersey.
After a riot of laughter, arms swinging and legs kicking, the 1½-year-old and one of the 3-year-old twins head downstairs with Grandpa. The other twin goes to the window overlooking a stretch of land bordered by a line of black locust, sumac and elderberry. “Come on, Gramma. Let’s watch.”
She stands by the window, and I kneel, waiting and watching. A few shafts of dawn wrap around the corner of the house and warm the woods. Motorists zip by on a two-lane highway cutting through the countryside. A doe and a fawn emerge from the trees.