Normally death came at night, taking a person in their sleep, stopping their heart or tickling them awake, leading them to the bathroom with a splitting headache before pouncing and flooding their brain with blood. It waits in alleys and metro stops. After the sun goes down plugs are pulled by white-clad guardians and death is invited into an antiseptic room. But in the country death comes, uninvited, during the day. It takes fishermen in their longboats. It grabs children by the ankles as they swim. In winter it calls them down a slope too steep for their budding skills, and crosses their skies at the tips. It waits along the shore where snow met ice not long ago but now, unseen by sparkling eyes, a little water touches the shore, and the skater makes a circle slightly larger than intended. Death stands in the woods with a bow and arrow at dawn and dusk. And it tugs cars off the road in broad daylight, the tires spinning furiously on ice or snow, or bright autumn leaves. . Louise Penny
About This Quote

Death waits in the woods with a bow and arrow. A hunter, ready to take down his prey, can be found in any woods. The hunter’s arrow is set for anything that moves. He shoots at whatever moves, whatever he feels will be able to come back to him.

He marks his territory, waiting for the next time he will need to fend off another animal or man. When he shoots an animal, he does not want to miss. He wants to take out as much of the life force as possible.

That way, when that prey comes back to him again, it will be far less well equipped to fight back.

Source: Still Life

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