A small deer’s rush of bright vitality crossing a country road
A blur of fawn and white from the passenger window
We clipped it’s haunch end because she slowed
but did not stop
I imagine she was singularly thinking of the baby in the carseat 
anticipating a rear end or whiplash
Later she pulled fur from the grill and examined the unblemished black bumper
and marvelled at our good fortune
She died four months later almost to the day
And I marvel at the omens