I left work at my usual time on Thursday but decided to stop first to do a little shopping and to get that bowl of cabbage beet borscht I’d been craving. So it was dark by the time I got back on the road.
I was driving along Route 73, behind the usual line of cars, just a mile or two before reaching Skippack Village when, from the corner of my eye, I saw a deer lying on the grass. Another deer was hovering above him, moving from one side of him to the other, touching his nose to the fallen deer as though he were encouraging him to get up. I wondered later if either deer ever recovered, which didn’t seem entirely impossible. Not after what I saw in November, a year ago.
My memoir, Dear Elvis, a story about grief and loss can be found at amzn.to/2uPSFtE