Sunrise-chill!
Just might –not be too-smart chasing the
wily whitetail-buck on his turf but…I am a
deer hunter.
Dawn had found me shivering-cold in a
tree-stand
some twelve-feet above the frozen ground
several-feet
from a game trace, too indistinct to be called
a-path,
my
warm-breath like fog on any rainy Frisco day!
That same pink-blush kind-of-day brought just
enough illumination to imagine three
grey-ghost wraiths
right under my stand; a trio of does heading
to a day-
time bedding ground. The full-“rut” was in
full swing;
a mossy-horn big-buck couldn’t be far-behind.
But, a day blossomed with a slow-to-rise cold
golden-globe of-sun breaking the
eastern-horizon;
“no”-show on the expected trophy dominated the
scene.
He might have picked-up my-scent; who knew?
The sweetness of a hunt is in the adventure of
pursuit;
trophies adorn-walls; memoires soar the
Spirit!
Harvesting a game-animal in fair-chase ends
the
delicious adventure. Such is the credo of a
true-hunter!
Amen!
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