Signing on the Dotted Line

by Zinta Aistars







There never was a third deer. I asked for a sign to guide me to a wise decision: three deer. Leaving the 122-year-old farmhouse on 10 acres after walking the land and watching the sun set beyond the west tree line, I'd hit the brakes hard as a deer bounded across the dirt road. She joined a second one at the other side, and both of them bounded away with breathtaking grace.

Two, not three.

If I'd seen a third, would that have decided me? I'd been circling that property since D...