This deer is still the same deer struck by yesterday's headlights. It remains cautious of headlights, or any kind of light. It has prepared itself for all kinds of light--from the faintest to the most blinding kind.
This deer has found peace and comfort in its strangeness. It is rarely disturbed by passing headlights at night.
The deer didn't see it coming. It was impossible. For the deer's eyes was closed--afraid of any kind of light. Rather, the deer heard it. It started as a faint sound, distinct but far away.
The deer was curious, as it always was of new things.
When the deer finally laid its eyes on it, the deer was, surprisingly, not afraid. You are not a headlight, and it was daylight, thought the deer.
The deer does not know what this creature is. It was neither bright and blinding, nor was it quietly approaching and often times receding. It was neither lingering. It is not a headlight.
The only thing the deer was sure of was that this creature was loud, one of its kind. And the deer can't stop hearing.
Who knew the deer could be disturbed by things other than a headlight?
The deer is ready for anything that resembles yesterday's headlights. It is, however, unsure of new things that do not look like a headlight yet makes the deer feel like it is dealing with one--the loud kind.