I found a deer dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.

It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:

that road is narrow;

to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car and stood by the heap,

a doe,

a recent killing;

she had stiffened already,

almost cold. I dragged her off;

she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side

brought me the reason—

her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,

alive,

still, never to be born.

Beside that mountain road I hesitated. The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; under the hood purred the steady engine.

I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; around our group

I could hear the wilderness listen. I thought hard for us all—

my only swerving—, then pushed her over the edge into the river.

I found a deer dead

on the edge of the Wilson River road.

It is usually best to roll them into the canyon: that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead. By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing; she had stiffened already, almost cold. I dragged her off; she was large in the belly. My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting, alive, still, never to be born. Beside that mountain road I hesitated. The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights; under the hood purred the steady engine. I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red; around our group I could hear the wilderness listen. I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—, then pushed her over the edge into the river.