fawn

Leo rammed the Grader through all the gears, racing the fire to the county line. Just in time he cut a swath parallel the gravel track - the fire had jumped one road already. There was nothing to stop it between there and Williston, fifteen miles away. // It had rained only once that entire Summer, the day I hit the fawn on County 5, in a convoy, fiddling with my wiper blades. A bad omen. The Honduran crew finished him with a pen knife, his blood soaking into the infernal dust. That night, back at the Man Camp, they feasted on its haunches under a moon turned pink by the Earth's contents, broken to pieces and churned into the air.

the heat of mid day returns to the sky -
it lingers there well into the night