I was seven years old when I came across a deer that had just died in a wooded area not far from my house. It was the unfamiliar stillness that stopped me first. I was walking into a foreign atmosphere, a pocket of life, or rather lack of it, which felt so apart from school, and home and friends. What is it in me that knew instantly, viscerally, that the boldly silent body was more than just a deer at rest? How was I recognizing what was so blatantly absent in its empty, open eyes?
I sat close wanting to pull information out of it with my curiosity, all the while afraid I would get caught doing something wrong. Not that I ever heard rules about avoiding dead animals exactly, but it was the very absence of talk about death that formed my seven-year-old logic of it somehow being forbidden, unclean, something I am not suppose to look at. It is one of those things to be whispered only by adults late at night behind closed doors. (MORE)
Source: Huffington Post
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