Sonia Walker Poet Prose Poetry

Elk Hunting Above Hornet Creek, Idaho

Yellow pines swaying at base camp,
early October morn greets the avid hunters
with its autumnal briskness, waking any
sleepyheads who are stirring under covers,
generators humming away at varying speeds,
smell of frying bacon and sizzling eggs,
add to the aroma of the great outdoors. 

Pickup trucks filled with camo-clothed hunters
traveling along the bumpy, dirt roads climbing 
higher and higher until the clouds meet the hunting
grounds full of meadows creating a thick mist,
shrouding all in sight including the hunter and 
the hunted creating specters among the 
remnants of forest fires from years past.

In the ghostly distance, shots echo throughout the air;
did someone shoot a lone elk left behind by its herd?
On target----a proud first-time young hunter and his dad 
walk through the brush to discover their next larder,
the meat is prepared, tagged and transported home for
future meals and discussions of the first successful hunt 
which remains with the youngest son for his entire life.

Stellar Jays flying overhead at base camp observe the
hunters who returned empty-handed but not disppointed,
in the evening a campfire glows warming the circle of hunters,
sharing stories of expeditions as old as their grandfathers and 
as young as their grandsons till late at night until the fire
is doused with water and the air smells of wet smoke,
a reminder of crawling into a sleeping bag and dreaming of elk.

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