11 December 2007

The Departed


We live off a very busy highway, out in the country. During deer season, the deer get flushed out from what's left of their natural habitat. This fawn was killed just a few minutes before I happened upon it.

The speed of this world is immense. Everything is moving fast. Ideas are multiplying. Houses are multiplying. Cars are multiplying. People are proliferating. Our lives are throttling forth.

Whatever exists has survived the speed of the world. The speed and the weight and the entropy and the chaos and the accidents and the natural disasters and the casual warfares, too. Hundred of fawns like this die every day. When you stop to look at one of them, it makes you wonder how you got so lucky to be here and survive all the way up until right now.

When I took this picture, a neighbor's dog was barking its head off, unnerved by a man walking instead of flying by at 65 mph. I said "Shaddup, you damn dog," but I said it under my breath.

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