In the deep, quiet woods that live behind her home, pine branches sag heavy with snow. Matchstick trees lean left in the wind, as she looks out her window with worry. What will become of the deer?
She knows little of wildlife in the woods in the back, but this winter, it won’t treat them kindly. Already her long narrow driveway bears eight inches of snow. Romantics would call that a blanket. She sees only a coffin, sealing in all signs of life.
No one could blame her.