His body, rather, sits there. Laying solitary in a field probably transversed by his crowd. His pack. his herd. Whatever deer travel in.
Perhaps a family, as a young child might see it.
His family walks past day after day and see his body lying cold and still and lifeless.
He is gone. His animal spirit is gone. And soon, his body will be too.
The vultures are seen the field picking out his innards. Doing what vultures do best. Helping the young buck to eventually return to his roots in the earth.
He’s slowly fading away. His body is but a hollow cavity.
The hollow deer in the hollow.
How I wish he would leave. I wish his body could leave as easily as his animal spirit so the daily reminder of his passing would be out of sight. Out of mind.
Until then, I drive and glance. Still startled every time to see him lying there in the hollow.