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A Traveler’s Haibun: Eternity in a Fawn Fawn’s Eyes • Michael Chacko Daniels Death at the side of the road

The cold January wind in Monterey punches through my layers of clothing for the day, all made in the tropics—bright-blue puffer vest (Made in Vietnam), navy-blue puffer jacket (Made in Indonesia), black Primaloft vest (Made in Indonesia), grey plaid flannel shirt (Made in India), black long-sleeve cotton T-shirt (Made in Vietnam), short-sleeve notch cotton T-shirt (Made in Vietnam)—as Teresa and I walk down Munras Avenue toward the Monterey Transit Center to catch the #1 Asilomar bus to the State Beach in Pacific Grove, and as the cars and trucks whiz past. I narrow my eyes to make out what’s lying up ahead in the gutter near Garrone’s Financial, opposite Dan Dahvee Park, and just when I’m about to add one more negative mental check mark against the cleaning routines of the city and the avenue’s motel owners, I realize what’s lying next to the sidewalk is:

No winter jacket or blanket discarded by a homeless person, no bag of spuds that had slipped off a pick-up van, no carrion dropped by red-tailed hawk, falcon, coyote.

Nor a dead red-tailed hawk, falcon, coyote, or mountain lion.
But rather an unmarked fawn, limbs stiff, body devoid of all movement, even of breath and sound, eyes fixed in a wide-open stare

And as I shiver, not just because of the cold January wind, I ask the grey-haired lady, who is standing close to the curb, as if on sentry duty:

What happened? Was there an accident?
She shakes her head, eyes full of sadness, and says:
She used to visit us often with her mother. No sign of any injury, but just in case it’s a hit-and-run. I’ve called the police. They’re on the way.

And Teresa says: Her mother is going to miss her.

And I wonder why the fawn fawn had fallen in the night at the edge of Munras
Avenue, her head pointing away from the curb toward Don Dahvee Park. And I want to tell the sad-eyed lady:

Maybe she was cold and hungry, separated from her mother. Fawns need to eat often to keep their energy levels up. In the cold, hypothermia can . . .

But decide the sad-eyed lady already knows all of that, having often allowed doe and fawn to graze in her garden undisturbed, which is the best of ways to respond to all mild beings.

And I bend to take a closer look at the fawn’s eyes to discover any residual glimmer of her life in them, but eternity stares back blankly, which stays with me all the way to the State Beach, where I see that—

as godwits dodge waves
and feed on marine creatures
a dog scatters them

#

© Michael Chacko Daniels September 2025

Zach Runs from a Great Man
• Michael Chacko Daniels

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