Remembering a morning's hunt

It is early morning before dawn; the night still has a hold on the woods. Dressing in the chill only adds a thrill to the hopeful success of the hunt. Precautions are made to remain as invisible as possible, the hunter checks the wind. Crossbow is readied, safety checks made. Gear checked. Keep silent, walk softly, and be alert to the sounds of the night as it loosens its grip. Making for the stand in the darkness, remembering the way, concentrating on quiet footsteps, the hunter presses on through the darkness keeping a sharp eye on the markers to the stand.
As silently as possible, the climb up into the stand is made and the hunter quietly settles in for the wait. There is darkness all around with only a hint of the dawn to come. There is silence in the woods and a crisp chill still in the air. The patient hunter listens for the awakening sounds of the woods and says a prayer for a successful morning hunt.
As dawn scatters the darkness and night takes refuge on the other side of the world, dawn begins her shy peak over the eastern sky. The trees are dark silhouettes, a silent sentential at attention. Then, dawn becomes bolder, the trees take on definition, leaves become more distinct. There, an early rising bird chirps and is answered. There is the rustle of leaves as a breeze picks its way through the canopy. Nearby, the distinct sound of disturbed leaves, but it’s only a pesky squirrel rummaging for a stored acorn. The hunter stands down from heightened alert. Heart rate slows as calmer breathing returns.
Yet again, as the faint light rises, a different whispering of leaves is heard, the ever so quiet sound of a distinct step followed by a long pause. The hunter is now on high alert; the mind slips into high gear. Has the direction of the wind shifted? Was a scent left on the way in? The heart begins to pound and breathing quickens. Then, there it is, the unmistakable footfalls of small hoofs walking in the early dawn, stealthy they come, the deer, too, on the alert. The hunter’s heart is beating faster, as the fight to control breathing takes over. Maintain control, maintain control is the mantra.
The sleek bodies of the deer come into view, cautious, heads in the air. The hunter watches. The deer are wary. The hunter looks carefully at the choices. Leading the young deer is the wise older doe. The hunter makes the choice. The heart rate ramps up, the hunter struggles to control breathing. Slowly, the crossbow is drawn up to the ready position. Sights are on the wise old doe, the safety silently pressed off, and finger begins the slow squeeze on the trigger. The hunter relies on rehearsed skill, practiced aim, one final intake of breath, and an arrow flies to its deadly mark.
As the mature doe turns to flee, the younger ones scatter not sure what has happened. The wise older doe soon stops, confused, what is happening? As the hunter watches, she falters, and then, within but a moment, she is down. The hunter looks to the sky and says a prayer to Mother Earth for allowing one of her children to be taken from her. Thanks are given for a successful hunt. As the hunter approaches the doe, silent thanks are given for her sacrifice and for the success of the morning. The hunter knells, strokes the doe, jubilant. The hunter feels the thrill and takes it in.

Remembering a morning's hunt

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