Saturday, October 24, 2009

On a Rural Road

The skidding stopped.

A mule deer lay dying some fifty yards back. Drawing feverish last gasps.

A two wheeled roadster crumpled halfway through a range-wire fence. Up against a silvered, split cedar post.

And a hapless rider splayed in shadows on the icy pavement – protective fabric melted – wondering why his left thigh felt so warm. And moist.

He took a quick inventory. All body parts attached. Motorcycle “over there.” No on-coming traffic. No sign of God. Or Saint Peter.

So he rested in the road. Laid his helmeted head on the pavement.

And waited.

A good day ruined.

Absolutely ruined.

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