Endless Knight

The snowstorm was expected the following day, although it might arrive even late tonight or early morning – or so the forecasters said. However, at this hour shortly past midnight, the sky looked mostly clear and in that part of the countryside, everything was still. The moment seemed to have stopped, as if already frozen in anticipation of the snow yet to arrive.

From the end of the long, winding driveway, the silhouette of the colonial structure looked back like a protective friend – not necessarily approving but understanding nevertheless. Back in there, there was warmth, there was a glowing light and there were memories. On the pavement however, there was only cold black tar – unevenly spread and with occasional granite pebbles. As is the way of nature; what was cold, dark, unresponsive, and hard looked a lot more solid than what was lit and warm and beckoning.

The mother deer never knew what hit her. She was following the fawn closely and as all young ones do, this one was discovering the new-found strength of its muscles. It ran ahead at full speed – pausing only briefly to look back and to assure itself that the mother was indeed behind – before it would resume its pace. It was soaring in body and it was soaring even more in spirit.

The mother was older and wiser and more apprehensive of the world around her. She was more careful perhaps by nature, and certainly through experience, but at the moment she was fully focused on her young. On her own, she probably would not have crossed the two lane highway without a careful appraisal. However, when the fawn stopped – frozen in the middle of the lane, she paused not for a second before jumping in and interposing herself between it and the oncoming pair of headlights – she was not being brave or become a hero, only doing what her instinct dictated.

A short, sharp screeching of tires followed. The trying-to-decelerate oversize sport utility vehicle hit her glancing and pushed her close to the median – suffering only limited damage itself. The jagged crack at one end of the Hummer’s stainless steel polished one-piece front bumper guard-bar – from a prior fender-bender – somehow penetrated the mother deer right below her anus and tore a gash through side of her skin as it pushed her aside and thus she fell – a chunk of her entrails spilling out – some of which would get splattered and plastered over the pavement as other cars would drive over later.

There was an eight inch dent on the left fender and a bit of damage to the front driver’s side headlight assembly, where fur and skin parts got wedged deeply, and a few large bloodstains covered parts of the windshield.

The vehicle moved away and everything was quiet again, except for the mating call of the cicadas which had recently emerged after their cycle of seventeen years.

A little bird chirped somewhere in the night. It was highly uncharacteristic for this time and it stood out – not because there was any special melody associated with it – in fact, it sounded rather melancholic – but simply because it was so unexpected in that stillness.

The stars twinkled overhead – trying to retain a rapidly dwindling place of respect among the gathering snow clouds. It was a feeble attempt to retain a bit of sanity amidst the sea of darkness which raged all around. A dot of light, just one among many, twinkled directly overhead – its fate sealed in view of the sure to approach morning and yet apparently powerless to stop its own twinkling – just like the little chirping bird was unable to change the workings mysteriously programmed inside its brain cells which, come the deep freeze of winter, would make it fly south to a destination yet unseen and unknown, a destination it has no clue to and yet a destination it must arrive at no matter what! Why nature is so obsessed with its cycles, few know and even fewer try to understand.

Large snow flurries, mixed with tiny snowflakes, suddenly started falling and in a matter of minutes, the carcass was covered with a white layer – like a shroud gifted from the heavens.

The little fawn hesitated and waited nearby – unsure of its next move. What had started out as an often-played, well understood game had suddenly taken an absolutely unfamiliar turn and the thrill of running was displaced by fear as dark as the night itself. Instinct now told it that it was unsafe to reenter the path yet it could not stop itself from running over at the briefest little traffic lull for a quick sniff at the deer’s unresponsive body – now frozen into an unfamiliar grotesque rigid shape and fast losing that well-felt warmth. As it nuzzled and pushed with increasing earnestness, the blood formed a red streak over the top of its snout, running almost all the way to its forehead.

If wishes could have power, it would perhaps have made the spirit rise from that now lifeless body and restored it to its original form and shape – to fulfill its destiny that nature intended it for. Was it because of the value of the past the fawn placed in her, or was it simply an attempt from memory to extract its only known source of support, or was it because it was afraid that those memories were about to go away for ever as she hardened up more and more into rigor mortis – as if trying her best to postpone the inevitable as her open mouth and her teeth appeared to look like a permanent angry snarl when in fact all they represented was a greatly discouraged state, an overwhelming pain from a devastating injury, and its profuse bleeding in torrents.

But wishes alone are not power, and so the cold, dark night went on.

Streaks of pink and red – which started out looking like dark blood – slowly transformed into a beautiful vermillion color and nature filled the forever open parting in that vast hairline now visible at the horizon and it would be only a matter of moments before the endless night would turn into a seemingly eternal morning of bliss – and then the red strings would become brighter than gold and dazzle all eyes – even though everyone knows the ultimate futility of dusk overcoming all – and spring smiles giving way to autumn leaves only destined to mingle with the dirt in the road – yet they wait.

Only for a while – and then it happens all over again! Another night and another morning! A seemingly never-ending night until the final night comes around and the eternal knight reasserts himself and claims his own – what is, was, has forever been, and shall forever remain exclusively his.