So, I'm driving along
Passing old-wall-hemmed-in fields,
(Walls swallowed by overgrown hedgerows),
An occasional patch of woods,
More fields,
The occasional farm,
When, up ahead, I catch sight of a deer
Running straight down
The middle of a field
Right toward the road.
If he keeps going at the same speed
He and I will likely collide.
As I slow, and he keeps coming,
I make out two little antlers sticking up between his ears.
There is a thin margin of trees
At the bottom of the field
All but concealing an old stone wall
And most likely a rusty remnant
Of a barbed-wire fence.
With no other cars visible
Behind or in front,
I slow to about 10 miles an hour
With my head turned to the right,
Trying to catch a glimpse of the young buck.
And, there he is, standing
Among the trees along the road,
Looking right at me.
The expression on his face
Speaks volumes to me.
It is a look of fear and bewilderment.
And then I realize what is going on.
This is the first day of hunting season.
This young buck is basically,
Against the odds,
Trying to disappear.
But there is more to it.
When I saw his face
I was looking at my nagual.
It was like looking into a medicine-mirror,
Showing me my animal-soul.
You see, I too have been running
Like a hunted thing.
The world we live in is governed by predators.
Every day in this country is the first day of hunting season!
If you, like me, don't condone war,
Even in principle,
Then we are strangers in a strange land
Because this land is the land of guns and war.
My ideas, my values, my principles, my dreams
Are all at risk.
They are the deer, the yearling buck of this world,
And I am running across the field,
Crossing dangerous roads,
Crossing the next field, the next hedgerow,
The next patch of forest, where I catch my breath,
Until I hear a gun go off and then I am off once again
Running for my life,
My beautiful, beautiful life.
(Article changed on Dec 01, 2025 at 6:26 PM EST)
(Article changed on Dec 02, 2025 at 9:19 AM EST)
