Traveling through the Dark.

Traveling through the dark 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 belly. My fingers touching the 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 it's 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 all of us -- my only swerving -- then pushed her over the edge into the river.

-William Stafford (1960)