#010// A Change in the Wind.
It was a clean shot. The kind we all hope for—quick, ethical, no mess.
A young roe doe, taken on an early February evening as the light slipped off the fields. Nothing unusual. And at first, the gralloch wasn’t either. I’d done it countless times. But through too much time since the last doe taken, and too many other things on my mind, I’d forgotten what to expect.
She was carrying twins.
Again, nothing unusual. Nothing unethical. It’s not rare at that time of year, and most wouldn’t think twice. The embryonic sac is usually cleared away without comment—unless there’s record keeping to do. I’ve done the same many time before, but this time I consciously took more than a moment.
In the failing light, they were pure creamy white, their skin almost translucent—reminiscent of the milk bottle penny sweets. An almost perfect miniature replica of an adult deer, just with an out-of-proportion head with bulging, closed eyes. I lay them in my hand, knowing they would never take a breath, never feel fresh air or daylight, never run through the woodland.
Poetic? Perhaps. But ending one life and denying the existence of two others carries some weight.
Before I became a father, I might not have thought much beyond the miraculous biological process of it all. But since having my own child—since witnessing my wife give birth, the battle to get to the stage of holding my son in my hands for the first time, and cutting the umbilical cord—I can’t separate that experience from moments like this. It’s different now. There’s an emotional weight to it that I never used to feel, a realisation of the fragile line between life and death.
This isn’t about anthropomorphising. I don’t pretend those unborn kids held dreams or a sense of self. But there’s still something quietly profound about holding something so close to life—and knowing you’re the reason it won’t get there.
And what struck me most, in the hours after, was this: If I’m feeling this—others must have too?
Other fathers. Other mothers. Others who’ve seen both ends of life up close. And yet no one really talks about it. Maybe it’s too hard to explain. Maybe it sounds too soft. Maybe we just don’t want to admit that something so routine can reach that deep.
But it can. And sometimes, it does.
No guilt.
Just a quiet change in the wind.
— Marc
