Waking two hours before dawn,
my young grandson and I,
The old stagecoach Inn was
dark and silent, squeak
of floorboards underfoot the
only discernible sounds.

A crowd of deer bounded away
off the green front lawn as we
sleepily made our way to the truck.

A bright yellow full moon was on
descending ebb, in a star clustered
sky, allowing just enough light,
to light our way by.


The high desert two lane road was
fully deserted, only our headlights
pierced the darkness. Within seconds
they began to appear, darting from
both sides of the narrow road, as if on
a mission, hypnotically attracted to our
headlights I assume.  At 60 miles an hour
almost impossible to miss.
But, god knows I tried. "Thump, Bump!"

"Thump, bump!" Another bunny under my
wheels, swerving not really mattering, miss
one hit two others. Jackrabbits and cottontails,
as if Kamikaze inspired, eight or ten at a time
from both sides of the road darted headlong
trying to cross. Fast as they were some did not
make it.

We stopped counting the carnage near 100 hits,
no way to tally the many we missed.  No joy in
keeping score of the newly departed. By the time
we reached the Alvord Desert, the ride transformed
into a 25 mile surrealistic trip. Who could have
known there could be so many?

Blood on my tires and my soul, I did not intend.

Out on the vast dry white, hard caked, once long
ago lake bed, now desert, we sat watching the new
day's sun rising up from behind the distant eastern
mountains. This quiet inspiring moment having
been our goal of intention.

All the while, I was distracted from the
magnificent scene before us, as I kept
seeing and hearing the repeated echoes of;
"Thump, Bump! Thump, Bump! Oh no,
not another!" In my guilt ridden brain.  
Why they do it I can not say, compelled
perhaps, like moths to a flame.