From one of Oregon's greatest poet laureates, William Stafford:
Quote:
Traveling Through the Dark
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more
dead.
By glow of the tail-light I stumbled to the back of the
car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her of; she was large in the belly.
My fingers touching her side brought me the
reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.
The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning
red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness
listen.
I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
|
__________________
If I am not better, at least I am different. --Jean-Jacques Rousseau
|