Concrete Shock

On the drive from Ohio to Wisconsin, I glimpsed a young fawn standing on the edge of the fragmented forest pondering with its wide eyes, the flat and loud open space of the highway,the whining speeding shiny things buzzing, and the rumbling of the monstrous metal conglomerations. Where will this lone fawn go? What water can it drink as rainbow pools of oil-splashed puddles flow to the dithes and then woodland streams? Must it resort to an acre of dying woodland squashed between factory farms and highways? What does the fawn sense as rain starts to sprinkle on its ragged coat and it turns its back on the impending doom, white tail flashing in the night.