Dots of light

When I walk down the wide, long concrete steps from my apartment, my eyes focus on where my feet will land.

It’s not an issue of balance so much as an unwillingness to squish any crawlies, most often ants, that wander into my path.

Senility may loom, but I see them as small dots of light, little lives I can’t bring myself to stomp out. So, I carefully give them space while they industriously ignore me.

Once past and driving away, I see the corpse of a doe lying beside the road. It’s been there for two days. There’s no visible trauma from the car strike, but its eyes are dark and empty.

Just up the way, a dead possum lies at the center of the blacktop. It stares blindly toward me. The tiny corpse of its baby lies next to it, eyes tight against the surprising violence of the world.

I know it’s simply nature’s way, which has no mercy, abetted by humans in our heavy boots and giant SUVs. Yet it’s heart wrenching, and it haunts my dreams.