7 April 2008
When last walked these trails
we found the carcass of a young deer
lying in the creek bed
with her neck heartbreakingly arched
and her face turned up towards the sky.
It was a dry summer that year
with not enough water in the creek
to cover the dusty brown fur
that gave no rise and fall
or distort the dull globe of open eye.
We stayed and looked long,
you and I,
each wondering the logistics of such a fall-
the height she had to jump
to clear the wooden walls of bridge;
perhaps not hard for a running deer.
What makes a wild, young creature leap to her death?
Merely not knowing what lay on the other side?
Or joy of the jump
with eyes steady on the stars?
note please--art by anikistit tampereella