The only thing I could think of...
It looks so clean...
The body curled up on the earth looked so fresh and young and new. The aura surrounding it, though, was old and warm like a great tree in the midst of summer. No signs as to what I thought was the being's demise were visible. It just lay there... a mountain of fur patched to look like a black beast partway buried beneath the snow of the tundra. For weeks it had lay there dead... not rotting, not fading, not breathing, not stirring. No bird nor insect nor falling leaf dared lay on the body of the being. Lichens refused to grow on fur and bone. Nothing changed as the summer rolled by.
Nothing moved.
As I grew to young staghood the being still remained. I had taken a liking to resting nearby, attempting to be so still as the one with the porcelain face. I hoped, dreamed, and believed that one day the being would wake so I could see a name shining between those white bone boughs. I wanted most to see the color of his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he would tell me of what he had dreamed while asleep for the entire summer.
Though it is fact that our forest is magic, I still wonder how he survived this long.
I still will wonder how I knew that this forest deer was even alive. Without so much as a golden flicker of his pictogram or a hint of a breath, he still seemed to radiate life. It made me realize that I didn't even have a clue how old he was or how long he'd lain here.
Fall was approaching. I knew then, that if he wanted to awaken that it would be soon.
**
There are heavy-aired evenings when one becomes lost in thought behind the cracked doors of his eyelids. Upon awakening from this dreamy state, there are long drawn pauses that cause one to become impregnated with butterflies before they realize what is happening. This evening was one of those. I lay next to where he did, but kept a reasonable distance as I always had.
