Sunday, April 29, 2007

Rainbows & Split Beavers

Driving home from White River Junction at twilight, I see the dim, fading remnants of a rainbow over the southern edge of the village. As I continue south on I-91, it brightens and seems to move with me, until the rain begins to fall in earnest and the last of the colors dissolve.

As I pass the sign for the Windsor exit, there's something in the road, sprawled towards the shoulder. Matted deep brown fur, the raw red hollow of a shattered ribcage, a huge flat black tail -- a beaver, pulverized by a truck, no doubt. A short ways further, another, rolled like a bloodied floormat at the far edge of the passing lane, more recognizably a beaver, its distinctive broad tail partially flattened by tire treadmarks.

As the Windsor exit comes into view, I sigh -- another beaver smashed to a partial pulp in the right lane ahead. I look away, toward the northbound lane, and see yet another on that stretch of highway. Four adults, by the look of it, all quite, quite dead; an entire family, or colony, wiped out in an afternoon. There was nothing on these stretches of road this morning.

I flick my blinker on, and veer onto the exit, heading home, hoping to arrive.

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Blogger Marky Mark said...

Well? Don't keep us in suspense. Did you arrive???

Blogger dogboy443 said...

Very PBS...I can see the Ken Burns documentary now.

The Other Mark M.

Anonymous Anonymous said...

a big round of pip pip chreeio's for the slope headed slack jawed mouth breathing bottom feeding trogs that aim for animals. god said we can do with them what we want, it's in the bible. only animals after all, and damn good fun.
some HUGE alien asshole should flatten you when you're just trying to raise a family.
oh and applause to slimy postmodern cynisism
irony stinks.

the other Zed.


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