I drove up to the mountains today to get out of Denver and shoot some of the few aspens left with golden leaves. I pulled off the side of I-70 just west of Frisco. I actually passed the spot I was after, so backed down the shoulder a little bit. As I did, I passed a doe, probably hit by some passing vehicle. She was half-eaten. I knew I would have to get her on film before I left.
I climbed a slag hill up to a small area above a mine and shot the final few black and whites I had, using filters, magnifying lenses and some patience. I was still close to the freeway and it was loud. The sounds of the cars I had come to escape inhabited my ears. But I wanted to get some color shots before I left, so I played around a little longer. I had seen a place on the way up that was not too far down the road, so I headed up, turned around at on outlet for a cycling trail & headed back toward Frisco.
But not before I got a shot of the doe. I walked up the highway to her body, leg bones bared from lack of meat, her entire midsection and chest cavity gone. Her eyes were dried and sunken, but still soft, almost alive. Flies lunched on the remaining meat. Still, quiet. As peaceful in death as life. It was the quiet that struck me most. The drone of cars was sucked into the Autumn wind, flailed through the pines and aspens. As I knelt upwind to photograph the doe, there was nothing but her and me, the flies and the grass. I heard her voice- calm, full of the knowledge Death brings. The shutter closed and the wind shifted and I almost threw up. All the noise fell out of the branches to land in my ears. Cars rushed by and her voice was gone.
The hike was nice- probably an excellent hike higher, when the trails nears the Continental Divide. Not many photogenic trees, but a nice stream with good waterfalls, rusty with iron deposits. I dropped from the trail into the canyon proper and wandered upstream until I found a patch of daisies and good pools. The place will be gorgeous in Winter, too. I can't wait to go back. I shot some shots until all the shots were gone. Then sat on a rock and listened to the water run. I sat for a long time, the lightest of all rain falling, as snow clouds formed and dissipated. I watched the water, listened to its story. I heard in it my own blood rushing through my veins. It was loud- louder than the highway, more powerful than all the cars and the tar and the cities. So loud I heard nothing but its voice; the voice of the doe, still remembered by the water she drank.
Perfect and powerful: Death and Life.
Culminated by sound.
8:24:22 PM 
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