:: Hunting Season ::

::
twas the morning of a cross race, and i'd just left my house,
happy valley was quiet, too early for even a mouse.
two bikes on the roof, secured there with care,
what would soon happen, i was completely unaware.

i was wishing that i was still snug in my bed,
but thoughts of great racing were filling my head.
the leaves were so pretty in the glorious morning sun,
daylight approaching, was causing the fog to run.

when just off my bumper there arose such a clatter,
i knew immediately what was the matter
what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a not-so-miniature, scared, female deer.

descending from the cliff above, with the greatest of ease,
she hit the asphalt, and buckled her knees.
'why does this deer fly? it's not christmas-time,'
'but please stay put, and everything will be fine.'

i pleaded with the deer to move no further,
she took one more step forward, inevitable was the murder.
downshifting and cursing, all happening in a flash,
horrible things were to come, surely a smash.

then silence and calm, vision filled with fur and a mist,
a whiff of antifreeze, the engine died with a hiss.
police and road service arrived in awhile,
tales of 7 deer dead this week, this quarter-mile.

101,000 happy miles, behind the wheel,
now on a flatbed truck, my head started to reel.
how to get home, who to call, and how much,
my brain started to hurt, as i thought of such.

but as i watched my trusted friend be hauled out of sight,
another friend came, and i knew things would be all-right.

::