08/06/2025 | tate-abrahamson | #from_air

White speckles ripple on the toasted back of a fawn, like sunlight on uneven waters. The deer grazes in the long grass. A stillness pervades the field, that only the deer seems to disturb. The grass swishes melodically as the deer wades through, causing an oceanic effect. In fact, the forest itself evokes an oceanic feeling of sorts. Long grass extends for a lengthy distance in all directions. The uneven brown of tree bark is not visible at the edges of this green sea, yet the sky has been blocked by numerous wooden arms. Branches that seem to defy all known laws of physics, they stretch on and on, seemingly unburden by their thickness and the weight of the plentiful vegetation they hold. A carpet of green and gold stretches from branch to branch, sometimes interrupted by plump red or purple fruits. Blinding white slips through cracks here and there, falling streams that carry themselves down to the sea below. The deer moves through this endless field, under these endless branches, with its nose pressed towards the ground. It’s head never lifts, its eyes never stop searching the depths of grass despite the shifting streams of light. Leaves fall in an orange blaze and the soft green of the forest floor turns brown and crisp. The deer continues on, unaffected. The white streams widen, almost swallowing the now grey forest in a pale haze. White speckles ripple on the toasted back of the deer before melting into warm fur. Water droplets hang on the sharp ends, creating a dazzling effect. The deer sparkles through the haze. It’s nose buried in a bright sheet of snow. Tracks circle lazily across the field, overlapping in all directions. The deer has not stopped moving, nor has it stopped aging. Soon, time will slow its bones and halt its perpetual movement. Soon, sleep will come and free those gentle eyes from the blinding streams of light. Soon, the deer will rest. Soon, it will find what it has been looking for, for the end that it so desperately craves. The story will end with its legs giving out, with it crawling on, still searching, until its muscles freeze up and its bones become too heavy to drag its grey body any farther. It will not have found the bark of those never ending branches, it will not have found the edge of the rippling green sea. It will finally lift its nose off the ground and cast its blind eyes to the sky. Time will descend from those never ending streams of light and settle on the dying deer’s back. It will crush the golden fur into the deers fragile ribs and its strained lungs will collapse. Only when the deer has shuddered its last breath will it understand what it was searching for.