NaPoWriMo #2

Spring Always Makes Me a Little Bit Angry

The deer appear to be dead and cover a hillside.  The light comes back from the seventies for a while to make objects hazy and endless.  I look over the landscape, trying to own anything but even this trying makes me tuck back into my sleeping, the sleep I carry with me everywhere like a cave.  Soon I see that the deer aren't dead but sleeping, some twitching a little, all breathing the breath of the close-to-gone.  The breathing is here and makes a haylike place to rest so I don't have to go down the hill. There is a little flame in each eye socket though the green here is soft and old.  Each flame takes a deer deeper into its hillside. Each hillside takes a deer and turns it into breathing.