The snow falls gently all around me. Rapidly accumulating. The air is still. I’m

not cold. I walk through a forest in central Massachusetts. The wildlife stopped

coming out weeks ago. Except for the large elk I saw yesterday sitting down in t-

he graveyard. I’ve never seen a deer sit before.

Yesterday was full of anxiety. How would I fare in the snow? In Worcester, the r-

uthless Boulevard Towing will steal your car and hold it hostage if they deem it

necessary. They respond to their victim’s anger with indifference. For the momen-

t, I have avoided such a fate. But, with the snow comes strife.

I pass by a small brook. The sound of the water a consistent static purr bubbli-

ng gently beside the path. My hair and clothes collect patches of snow. My poin-

ted black hood resembles some grim reaper apparition reflected in the windows as

I pass. My breath spiralling in white clouds out of my mouth.

I’ve been here for hours. A respite from the chaos of life among the statuary &

sentinel bare trees which sway gently in the calm. I like the snow. Even in the

dark you can see the contours of the landscape. All is silent and still. The a-

ir dense with a kind of electric charge.

My bunker is a vehicle where I perform these operations. I must leave to trek &

survey the grounds every few hours. It is a simple task, quite disassociated f-

rom the rest of my life. What takes place beyond is put aside for the night.

There is a flash. Thunder. To my left I see movement. Three deer walk past. The-

ir coat glowing a deep green with silver crisped edges. The two small deer look

at me and melt into the landscape; green pools and silvery reflection in the sn-

ow.

The third deer catches fire and runs off into the woods. A blue trail lingers in

the air. I smile.