Miami Whitewater
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