The Thinning Snow (it will be okay)

I hit an elk in a snowstorm on highway 141.

It slipped, it was half lying down, it tried to get away

I knew if it was standing it would have gone straight through the windshield

I’m still in the car. I slammed the brakes, sliding and hitting it head on, tearing into the ditch. My music cut out, replaced by local talk radio as I slipped to a stop. My engine stuck revving until I thought to turn it off.

I was afraid to go look. I love elk and I knew I didn’t kill it right away. I took deep breaths saying

It’s okay, I’m okay. It will be alright.

I stepped out of the car, bending open the door. The engine was smoking.

The air was silent. Snow fell calmly as though nothing had happened.

There it was.

It was a female, I knew that. I had seen it before. It couldn’t move it’s back legs.

But it was upright, still is. I watched it.

the elk looked at me, a bright light shining in it’s eyes, no screaming, no thrashing, no panic. We watched each other, through the thinning snow as though nothing had happened.

Then I heard the squeaks from the dark. At first I had no Idea what they were, until it dawned on me. It had calves.

They went back and forth through the otherwise total darkness as if to say

I’m here. Its okay. It will be alright.

By morning she will die, blanketed in fresh snow.

We were both just moving, we both just stumbled.

I am alive. She is dead by tomorrow, and I will live as though nothing had happened.

I called 911. She sounded bored, got my phone number, make and model. Help is on the way.

I stumbled when she asked

“Are you okay?”

Yes, I’m okay.

She is dying in the ditch. I would be too if she didn’t stumble.

We would be on opposite sides of the road, blanketed in fresh snow.

Yes, I’m okay.

It’s okay. I’m ok.

Everything will be alright.