The deer haunted me all Fall. They hid on the side of the road as I drove by in the day. At night, my headlights would find their eyes. Often, they would just stand there, blinded by the light. Yet, even in that impaired state, they threaten to bolt, fleeing for their lives to escape the monstrous machine that took their vision.

They haunt me as I drove down the road. Pieces of them remind me that they are there. A leg here. A hoof there. Other body parts strewn about to remind that one of them fled and didn’t survive. Roadkill is typically sad and off putting. The bloated carcass of a dog or cat, racoon or skunk. It’s small. But deer, the large animal of prey, that is real carnage. That is evidence of what a car can do. The murder weapon that people take for granted every day.

It takes something big to show the true danger of something else. Think a drug is bad, something that a baby or small animal dies from consuming, think of it taking down a 200+ pound man or lion. That means business.

So when the headlights catch the bright reflection of the deer’s eyes, it is a balance. Will it hit my car, leaving a dent in the hood and threaten to cause a spin out? Will it die trying to flee, not understanding these machines made by humans? Or will it stay there, stunned, intimidating and scared?

That is all I can think about as I drive alone down 95 towards Washington. The sides are far enough away that I’m in no real threat of facing one of these four legged beasts. But my turnoff, heading home to the woods where foxes hide in the bushes, has a median of grass. I’ve seen a doe there once. I cried the whole way home. Nothing happened but the idea of it scared me.

I can’t wait for Fall to be over. The dead of Winter can be the haunt of me. I just don’t want to see another deer.