November 22: Driving home from Vermont

Several hawks in trees,
road-killed deer off 89--
this world's dangerous.

October 9: Reading signs

When something important with an uncertain outcome happens, I think our natural tendency is to look for signs around us that might indicate how things will end up. But this can work either way if you look too closely:

A.
After the interview
two road-killed porcupines
and a broken wiper.

B.
After the interview
burnished, rain-bright, seaside field,
year's cheapest gas.

November 21: I89 to Burlington, VT

Snow starts, then stops.
Crows mass in whitened fields,
dead deer in the median.

June 8: Snapping Turtle

In the six hours I was on the road this afternoon driving home from Vermont, the image that lingers longest in my mind is of a big Snapping Turtle walking along the edge of Route 1 outside Wiscasset. She didn't need my help right then, and I hope that she eventually ambled off the road and safely laid her eggs somewhere. But I worried about her for the rest of the way home, so vulnerable, as all creatures are, to our speeding cars...

Miles and hours driving
and all I can think about--
the turtle I passed.

June 16: Road-kill

Driving on 295 to Portland today for a Sea Dogs game. A good time had by all, and yet...

We didn't talk about
the roadside dead deer
but it haunted me all day.

March 14: Watch the road

Doesn't it always happen that when you're in a hurry, the guy driving in front of you is going 20 MPH under the speed limit? And when you finally get past him, that sense of impatience lingers. Fortunately, I took some deep breaths, slowed back down, and relaxed a bit, because just a few minutes later I came to an intersection at which a car was stopped halfway through at an odd angle. No accident. I think the car just died and rolled there. The poor driver was standing there on her cell phone obviously calling for help. Several minutes after that, if I hadn't regained my calm, I might have clipped a turkey. Instead, I was able to watch with a smile as a small flock safely disappeared into the roadside shrubbery. When I finally got to my destination, I felt like I'd successfully run a gauntlet of sorts.

Slowed, I didn't kill
that woodchuck or those turkeys.
A good day to drive.

September 16: Safe

On my short drive into town after work this evening, a squirrel dashed across the street just ahead of the tires on an oncoming truck. Although my car was some distance away when I observed this, I still instinctively braked as I watched the sequence of events unfold--sort of bracing myself for the possibility of a small disaster that never happened. On my way back home from the library, a chipmunk, tail held high, made its mad dash from one side of the street to the other. Safe, thankfully, and nowhere near my car.

I've noticed more than the usual amount of road-kill the past few weeks--squirrels, mostly, and some raccoons and skunks. I wonder if it's because the summer's young are grown and dispersing from their home territories, so more animals than usual (and more naive animals) are wandering around,  unknowingly putting themselves in front of our cars. In any case, it's always a relief to witness a safe crossing--one less life lost in a day.

Without knowing it
we too probably miss death
by seconds some days.

June 29: Death and Life

Driving to an errand in Rockport this afternoon, I saw a dead grey squirrel on the side of the road. Not an unusual sight, and it's not like there's a shortage of squirrels in the world, but I'm always saddened to see any road-killed animal. I gave some moments of thought to the short but probably lively life of the now-squished squirrel and made a silent wish that its body would at least now make a positive difference to the life of some crow, vulture, or fox. 

On my return to the office, I passed by a house with lots of bird feeders hanging in the yard. One tube feeder was completely obscured by the furry body of a grey squirrel curled around it, its tail waving like a plume. I had to laugh. This squirrel was very much alive, doing what squirrels do best. It was somehow reassuring to see. Life goes on, even as we are confronted with deaths large and small on a daily basis.

Draft of passing car

flips the dead squirrel's tail. Live

squirrel flicks his too.

January 12: Roadkill

Haiku are often Zen-like in that they capture the ephemerality of life, those moments that are here and then gone. The undercurrent of that train of thought is that we are all mortal, that our time on the planet is brief and should therefore be appreciated, even savored. I was reminded of this today as I swerved around a freshly-killed squirrel in the road. One minute that squirrel was a living creature, waving the fluffy plume of its tail, thinking about an oak tree across the road. The next, it was a grey body on the asphalt. To make matters worse, a little further down the road another animal lay dead on the center lines, a long, dark creature that may have been a mink. I think I've seen more minks dead than alive.

Road-killed animals always make me wince, and then I often say a short prayer for the soul of the animal. It seems only proper to pay this small respect to another living being whose life was cut short by something beyond its control and of which it had no real comprehension. Our roads and cars are intrusions on the natural space of the planet, causing millions of these small deaths every day. And I'm not trying to sound self-righteous--I drive around just as much as the next person--but to simply state a fact. A fact that not only makes the lives of these animals more precious, but also our own lives. We share this mortality. And it could happen just like that. So when I pass roadkill, besides giving a little thought to the creature lying there, dying there, in such an undignified way, I also can't help thinking about myself, taking a moment to inwardly rejoice that I am alive. And hopefully, the dead animal will become food for another animal, a scavenging crow or an opportunistic fox, thereby perpetuating the chain of life.

Road-killed squirrel, may
you end up in the black urn
of a crow's sleek throat.

Poetic note: I'm not happy with this haiku stylistically, because the lines are enjambed, and there is no kigo, or seasonal marker. But the sentiment is exactly what I wanted to express. Sometimes we have to sacrifice form for function--or in this case, take some poetic license.