Hunting, October 2006
Remembering...
I watched the shadows of aspen and pine
dancing in the broken sunlight on the forest floor;
I listened to a wind that poured itself between the mountain peaks and valleys,
roaring through the tops of tall trees, old trees,
barely purring through the new growth that was sheltered by the dead trees fallen at their feet.
I looked up and caught a flare of sunlight glancing off the snowy peak above me
and for one brief moment I was lost in time, caught up in a glimpse of Pentecost.
I left my footprints on damp ground, snowy ground, earth richly mulched with many years of fallen leaves.
I left my footprints next to those of elk, and deer,
next to the unhurried prints of a coyote,
the morse-code prints of rabbits,
the sharp toe-prints of dusky grouse.
I heard the bugle of a bull elk,
proud in his heavy crown and shaggy mane,
the high-pitched singing of coyotes across the meadows.
I was scolded by a squirrel who grew quiet
and blinked at me when I laughed at him.
I tasted fresh winds, and cold snow,
shared hot drinks and home-made treats
in a little cabin warmed by love,
filled with love;
And in all of this, I was blessed beyond measure.
text & photos (c) 2006 quidni pro quo
I watched the shadows of aspen and pine
dancing in the broken sunlight on the forest floor;
I listened to a wind that poured itself between the mountain peaks and valleys,
roaring through the tops of tall trees, old trees,
barely purring through the new growth that was sheltered by the dead trees fallen at their feet.
I looked up and caught a flare of sunlight glancing off the snowy peak above me
and for one brief moment I was lost in time, caught up in a glimpse of Pentecost.
I left my footprints on damp ground, snowy ground, earth richly mulched with many years of fallen leaves.
I left my footprints next to those of elk, and deer,
next to the unhurried prints of a coyote,
the morse-code prints of rabbits,
the sharp toe-prints of dusky grouse.
I heard the bugle of a bull elk,
proud in his heavy crown and shaggy mane,
the high-pitched singing of coyotes across the meadows.
I was scolded by a squirrel who grew quiet
and blinked at me when I laughed at him.
I tasted fresh winds, and cold snow,
shared hot drinks and home-made treats
in a little cabin warmed by love,
filled with love;
And in all of this, I was blessed beyond measure.
text & photos (c) 2006 quidni pro quo
1 Comments:
Sounds as if someone had a memorably enjoyable time.
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