About this story: mic Podcast

 

In the heart of a fanciful forest in the residential community of Magnolia Point lived a herd of peculiar deer. Unlike their real-life counterparts, these deer were crafted from sturdy logs and enchanted branches, pressed into sockets augered with skill and care. Red ribbons, the color of a festive holiday, were tied around their necks like whimsical scarves.

These weren’t your typical forest creatures. They were whimsical creations, brought to life by a whimsical woodcarver named Maggie P and her dedicated crew, a woman with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and a long and very interesting history at Magnolia Point, who imbued her deer with a peculiar brand of magic. They could talk, for one, and their conversations were filled with witty banter and ironic observations about their wooden existence.

One crisp morning, the deer herd gathered around Maggie’s workshop, their wooden faces etched with concern. “Maggie,” bellowed Bernard, the lead buck, his voice booming like a hollow log being thumped, “We have a problem.”

“What seems to be the trouble, Bernard?” Maggie smiled, wiping sawdust from her chin.

“We’re feeling…incomplete,” sighed Beatrice, a doe with a twig for a tail. “We can’t quite seem to grasp the essence of what it means to be a deer.”

Maggie stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, that is a curious predicament. Perhaps you haven’t experienced enough of the forest yet.”

Thus began the deer’s quest to discover the true meaning of deer-ness. They lumbered through the forest, their wooden legs knocking against rocks, their twig antlers snagging on low-hanging branches. They attempted to graze on grass, only to find their wooden teeth were ill-suited for the task. They tried to run with the foxes, but their stiff bodies could barely keep up.

Despite their struggles, the deer’s adventure was filled with humor and camaraderie. They laughed at their own clumsiness, and they marveled at the beauty of the forest around them. Slowly, they began to appreciate the unique way they experienced the world.

As evening fell, they huddled together under a giant oak tree near that quiet pond on Turkey Creek, Bernard spoke up, in reply to the rumblings among the herd. “We may not be real deer,” he said, “but we are Maggie P’s creations. And in us she instilled the spirit of the season, and though we may not survive the blazing sun or the fungi from the summer rain, or the fire-pits or the chipping machines, we spring to life for one last dance in the open air! And that’s what it means to ‘Rock’, and that’s something special!”

The other deer nodded in agreement. They may have been made of wood, but their hearts brimmed with life, laughter, but for the love and dedication, and magic, of a whimsical woodcarver. And that, they realized, was a pretty good thing to be.

 

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