Tamarack Morning



A brief glimpse through the eyes of a bow hunter

Come witness with me the wonders I see
from fifteen feet up a Tamarack tree
as I wait for my quarry to slip down the trail.

The sky overhead is pregnant with clouds
that cover the morn like a late summer shroud
and the wood is a-flutter with squirrel, snipe and quail.

In the gloom of the morning among murky skies,
a black-hawk a-wing, while hunting mice flies
as a cloud of wee birds wends it's way through the trees.

The moon, full and bright breaks the gloom with its light
on its way to its rest in the dawn's wan twilight
while the leaves ovate to a soft morning breeze.

Ho, look! In the East! The sun starts to crest
and the owls hoot their last melancholy request
as the leaves in the breeze dapple due drops all 'round.

A hush covers the wood and a chill cloaks the day
as the dawn breaks in full and the clouds drift away
and the hoarfrost begins to melt on the ground.

A crack on the trail and a scent in the air
gives me notice that something is moving out there
and I ready myself for the moment at hand.

With the bow in my hand, arrow-knocked at the ready
and my anxious breath measured and nerves calmed and steady,
the drawn string release awaits my command.

There he is! How majestic! His antler so proud
as he puts his nose high with a snort that is loud, 
all challenge of his right to the herd, to reduce.

And I wait in the moment almost too late I fear,
but a noise in the wood makes him stop and turn near,
and I thank the great spirit for this gift, as I loose.



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