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Poem
The places I go with my arrows and bow
on glorious Autumn days.
Barking squirrels and cawing crows 
pain staking miles that heal the soul

In the light of day I stalk my prey
anticipating any movement coming my way.
Deeper into the forrest I go
with only my primitive arrow and bow

There are shadows cast of light on light
which echo surreal color o're every tree
and ripples roll o're every stone 
beneath the moss banked creek

A Cougars den of twisted stump
Show drag and bone of evidenced home
Ah the thrill to know I too am hunted;
Prey and predator never creep alone 

A bow huntress
A life I seek to take
but I shall not attempt a shot
beyond my skill to make

I'll loose my arrow
swift and true
No creature to feel pain 
of a miss undue

A clean quick kill or no kill at all
Such is my desire.
Practiced skill to make it so
for I own the wisdom to hold my fire

A practiced craft
A primitive fight
Arrows with broad heads
steady for flight

I know in my heart
I owe my quarry this
There's some things more costly
then merely a miss

I sit up in the trees, in blinds and in brush
waiting with patience 
for that split second rush

Following trails left behind
of those elusive beats in this garden I find
to be one with peace, and peace of mind
wind whispering their scent and that of mine

Silently I pass
to raise no alarm
branches gently touch 
then slide from my arm

Eyes to the path 
of the trails I follow
To the antlers elusive 
hidden in the hollows

The only noise
the beating of my heart
I was born for this
I knew from the start

As I raise my bow 
and fall to one knee 
as if in eerie slow motion
Draw - 
then loose my arrow 
with awe 
and simple devotion

THWAK - KATHUNK

A creature is dead

Now comes the true work
for the tales to be said
round the next gathering 
and the breaking of bread
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