The horn blasts Mama deer and her speckled twins, transforming their march into a huddle on the berm next to the highway, “Stay out of the road.” A second beep-beep urges them back, for a few seconds, until her intuition insists; heads down, they dart across the asphalt, the line of cars stopping in deference. Her disregard for the collective wisdom dances behind her into the woods, joined by a parade of neighbors; husbands who insisted on buying a motorcycle, daughters who hung out with hoodlums, sons who scorned the family business against the better judgment of those who loved them.
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