Leaf blown, violent dash

across rear vision – a sight

to distract if not enough to crash,

but she starts in alarm not sounded.

A jolt to move the body – rigid

before, tense from fear –

to livid, quick and ready for

destination oncoming.

 

A horn (vague) sounds, yet

merely whispers in her ear:

her focus on future waits,

round another corner, beyond another

red, or amber, even green (of lights,

of trees – so mesmeric now the leaves

budded by waking Spring…).  Somehow

she brakes before she kills the deer.

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