I see a deer head lying in the middle of the path where I walk every day. The deer looks perfectly alive, except for its missing body. The path is grassy and manicured, winding through an open field, along a river, and through several sparse patches of woods. At first, I noticed only a small clump of fur on the path up ahead. I did not recognize it as part of an animal until I got much closer. I lean over the head, observing the clean break at the neck and the bugs crawling out of its eyes. What I am witnessing seems both tragic and banal. I have seen dead animals before, mostly on the side of the road. I understand that nature revolves around cycles of life and death, yet I feel pain for this deer and wonder about the conditions of its demise. The illusion of security provided by the manicured path suddenly falls away. My world and the natural world converge; I realize that they are one and the same.

I decided to seek out these points of convergence between the human and natural world. I became curious about the conditions that expose the fragility of the human construct and allow me to experience the beauty and cruelty of the world as it really is. Where do these moments of convergence take place? Who else is seeking them out?  How authentic are these experiences?

I met with hunters, taxidermists, field ecologists, zoologists, veterinarians, and outdoor hobbyists to investigate these questions. I set up a trail camera to document the wildlife that lives around me. I began to pay attention and notice more. What constitutes a genuine experience with nature, anyway? The afternoon sun beats down on my face. A bumblebee buzzes above my head. You and I, and everything around us, will eventually die. Which deaths will I mourn?