Arcanite Pictures

There’s a schoolyard in Idaho where the deer sleep. The field is really on two sides of the street: the first a half-arched hill, lumps, green like golf course, green like astroturf; the second, hidden in quaking aspens, forest brush, deciduous catalpa almost done shedding, dense fibers of spiny wooded slough. In said brush, a horse trail is muddied and rendered unwalkable. You are driving past at dusk, your mouth pressed open, lips pursed puffy on the backseat window glass, breathing cold condensed air, the fog of which mimics an adumbrated cloud. Through said cloud, you watch the deer who are awake now and turning away from your breath. You watch them leave you at the roadside, frail wantless naked creatures dissecting themselves between the blades of overgrown stalk. And as they leave, you name them, because it’s easier to watch them go that way.

Ian Ritter

Ian-ritter.com / @iannritter

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