Opening Morning (a hunter's observations)

Waiting    listening    watching -

senses strain against 

the darkness.

Dark gives way to gray

enough to see 

deceptive shadows.

The woods stir slowly.

Chickadees speak, still sleepy.

Leaves rustle in the distance

alerting vigilant ears and eyes; inciting hope.

Scanning the ridge and shooting lanes, my eyes - then ears -

lock on rummaging squirrels.  

Cold hands slip back into pockets;

it tries to snow.

Ravens complain        back        and        forth.

Stillness -

then the rise of wind

through the trees. 

Around eleven I walk to Dad’s stand.

Quiet talk and hot soup -

no deer.

The afternoon is spent, back against a Maple, 

with cautious thoughts comfortable enough to creep forward 

and linger in the peace of the woods.