We arrive after dark. It’s five pm. Communing together at dusk, out in the quiet. I’ve been looking for something that can be felt here. It’s slow beating heart buried deep. The deer is still. Seized in the final straw. I linger for a moment in the car. My wife removes the knives out of the trunk. The bone saw has a fresh blade. She helps carry my burdens.

The man’s coat reminds me of something of the past. The material is new, but the pattern is old. John Prine sings. At this time my hands begin to operate remotely, remembering what they used to do. I observe. They perform. Three hours will pass, and I barely notice. The exhaustion will not land into my own bones until I return home.

In the quiet of a pole barn, with only the spirit of the buck to watch me, I feel well enough about myself. For a moment or two, all that is asked of me in this world is to do right by the beast. I’ll try. For a glimmer I feel a part of the world.