The Brutal End

I was moved to tears.

I had been driving the sidestreets somewhat off the highway, trying to get a decent photograph of a tattered and torn American flag, flying ever so proudly in the wind -- despite its deplorable condition. 

My search led me to a feeling much deeper than the anger I felt upon seeing the stately symbol.  I felt the deepest sorrow.  And I felt helpless ...

What I saw was something I never expected to see, and I only glanced it for a second.  The flock of vultures had surrounded what I believed to be the carcass of an animal that hadn't made it across the street.  It's an area of development -- tens of thousands of new houses and commercial development along the fringes.

The poor animals who had formerly called the placid pastures and cypress swamps their homes were being displaced at a furious pace.

I was struck by the thought that it was the inevitable final chapter -- where one animal must be sacrificed so that others will continue to thrive.  But I cried out loud when I came abreast of the dark feast.  The vultures were greedily picking apart the body.

But for a brief second -- my heart stopped -- when I saw the raccoon raise its head, to itself witness its own end.  How terrific, horrible.  I could feel their beaks slicing through my heart.

I wanted to stop the car.  Get out.  Put it out of its misery.

But I did not.

Stunned, I drove ahead, turned the corner and drew a deep breath.

I'm so sorry, my friend.  May you find peace tonight.  I cannot unsee his brutal end, and what it may portend.