Forced

When we turned onto the road leading to home deep within the mountains, my heart gave a shudder.

Anxiety? Exhaustion? Susceptability to impressions?

As we traveled up – then down the first long road, we swerved around as passed a furry body.

I thought it was a possum, and turned around – not wanting to leave it there to the disgrace of passing vehicle mutilation.

Car parked to the side at night with emergency lights flashing, we discovered it was a small fox of red and blue markings that died of head trauma.

The blood on the road was both deepest-dark maroon and orange-red paste-paint glistening.

How strange…the lighter color must have been mixed with brain fluid.

As I carefully lifted its small heaviness, then lay it down in graceful running position on the shoulder’s rise against a fence, its flopping head brushed against my left hand nuckles where the bag’s handles left them exposed.

Blood marked me, there…blood of an innocent.

Maybe that’s why when we got home and the cats began ping-yowling at me every 1/2 second – I just lost my cool and began yelling.