Tag Archives: hunting

Day 3–Surprise Ending

Day 3—Surprise Ending 
Rub my eyes, rub them again. It’s still there the veiled view from my camo hide. 
Last night’s rain gives rise to a misty morn. The watched area where the quest of my daily vigil is to appear, while still lush and green, seems a farther reach.

Will this haze-shrouded pasture now give less concern to the wary, antlered buck?
Will he send some innocent doe to precede him for safety’s verification?
I wait to see. 

While waiting I cast my gaze about:
the rain has accelerated that leafy descent—a golden-hued carpet spreads out before me.
Now appear nearly bare limbs of those soon expected barked skeletons. Winter’s cold, grey skies are drawing ever closer.
 
How long will I still be sitting here and watching?
Am I some Rip Van Winkle who may awake to find a dramatically changed world?
Will my trusty muzzleloader have yielded to creation’s relentless decay?

An imagination gone wild, you say, yet the silent ticking of my digital timepiece slowly records the passage of time, and I cannot conjure up even one cloven hooved quadruped to challenge my sights. 

An hour has somehow escaped since Day Three’s vigil began—time to turn again to tea and cashew, a comforting reprieve from the morning’s diligence. 

That done, I‘ll give thought to more spiritual ponderings.
“Patience is a virtue” the scripture doesn’t say, but implies from the lives of so many of the saints. Apostle Peter in his second letter mentions virtue as a foundation to build on. It is linked to diligence. But he fails to define “virtue.” Webster says it is from the Greek and has to do with a basic morality. Since it is taken from idol-worshiping Greek it should be modified to indicate a foundation of Ten Commandments and Torah—which I’m sure Peter and his followers understood. 

“I thought you were hunting,” you say. 
Okay, let’s apply virtue to hunting. 
Patience is a fruit of the Spirit. So if I exercise patience while hunting I am exhibiting virtue. 
And now another hour has slid by—the meadow remains peaceful and empty of quarry.
Patience my virtuous friend. 

And so Day Three comes to an end. How many more days will my virtue remain victorious? Is there some other spiritual principle I’m missing?
Don’t tell me—let it be a surprise.

Kennedy Brown
November 6. 2017

Day Two–Impatient Hunter or Patient Poet

Day Two: Impatient Hunter or Patient Poet
Now I sit, just before first light, in my camo hide, as South Africans call a game viewing enclosure. 
Gravity’s relentless call is still at work littering the forest floor with a myriad of fall-hued, leafy pixels. 

Where did my quarry spend the night? Was it in this very place, protected by darkness’ cover? 
The game camera says “Yes, at 1:15 this morning a manly rack munched with abandon the succulent forage.” 
“O camera, will that antlered one return to test his bravery against the day’s light?” The mute reply lets my question hang unanswered. 

So, I sit. A sip of tea, a cashew—could these diversions bring a speedier approach of the queried one? 
A watch check: 45 minutes has gone by. 
Wait—now I see it—a herd of cloven hooved, massive-racked deer are in my field of view. 
A quick shake of the head, and reality returns.
The peaceful, empty meadow has only grown brighter with the rising sun. 

And now I count: 10,001, 10,002… and after days and countless counting each tree still looks fully clothed in the hues of fall’s leafy splendor. How long before those dark, skeletal limbs stand stark against winter’s grey sky? It will happen—
it always does, yet surprise seems to greet each new repetition. 

Are the falling leaves not like warnings of sin?
There are clearly recognizable signs,
like falling leaves,
inexorably ignoring these obvious signals eventually finds one standing like the barren tree—his sin ever so starkly revealed. 
Unlike sin, the annual leaf event is creation’s plan,
but the falling leaves of sin’s warning are a silent call to halt—
a notice of the approach of exposure.
The winter’s cold, grey light offers no succor to what will be revealed. 

More tea, two hours have passed and my vision of a venison roast surrounded by carrots, onions and sweet potatoes now dims.
My thoughts of the comfy bed I left in the dark grow stronger—
but a true hunter soldiers on. 

Hmmm, am I a true hunter?
Were it not for the lavish encouragement of my friend, Robert, I would still be considering only the possibility of a hunt.
Perhaps there is a gravity pulling me from my bed to this forest vigil. Perhaps a “magic” will imbue me with “hunter.”
Perhaps….

What will Day Three produce?
Can I become a hunter by perseverance?
Or, is it the pleasure of a morning’s forest reverie that draws this poet and his pen?

Kennedy Brown
November 5, 2017