A two-lane highway cuts across this slope,
a truck route, lightly traveled. On its far side
the slope continues, even more steeply,
to the flat, wooded valley and broad field
down below. I was watching the snow fall
when a movement caught my eye. A buck,
tall and regal, was bounding down the hill.
Just then, a car sped up the road, doing maybe
fifty miles an hour. In less than a second,
their paths would intersect. I held my breath
to brace myself against the imminent collision.
And then, as if it were born to do so,
without as much as a heartbeat’s hesitation,
the deer leaped into the air in a high, perfect arc
above the speeding car, and bounded down
into the field, disappearing in the woods there.
And the snow continued to fall on the hill
as if nothing had happened at all.