Out in the woods, I become as vapor. Invisible. Unseen. Even when I chop veggies for a salad, the deer are unfazed.
“Must be a woodpecker,” they antler at each other.
Only a fool hunts deer wearing a belt. To a deer, a belt is like a foghorn wrapped in a freight train with an explosion-in-a-cymbal-factory glaze.
“Here comes some fool with their pants up,” the deer antler at each other, scornful. “As none dare hunt us with their shame uncovered, by their belts shall we know them, and we will always be safe in these woods.”
To hunt the deer, your pants must defy both God and gravity UNSEEN.
“I just had the craziest feeling,” a deer antlered at another deer. “As if an entire territory, where we’ve lived our whole lives, the shape of which is alien to our conception, formed by other minds that cannot speak via antler… just vanished.”
“Where are we now, then?” antlered the other deer.
“Lost,” came the antlered response.