Category Archives: Persona

“…missed the chance of a lifetime…”

“Gob-obl-obl-obl-obl-obl!” The wild turkey’s melodic tone hung in a quiet, frosty calm. That tom was still roosted, on the hog-back ridge, over the hill and across the big swamp. Night’s abyss abated with reluctance that fine morn in 1798, or … Continue reading

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The Intricacies of Everyday Commerce

Blue wool fibers pulled free with the sticktight. Pinch and pull…pinch and pull…pinch and pull… The blue-flagged seeds accumulated on an oversized, cupped brown oak leaf. Some flew to the south, discarded in frustration; others slipped away and fell at … Continue reading

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“…but seven balls left…”

“…I had but seven balls left, but as there was no trader near, I could not at present get any more. With those seven I killed twenty moose and elk…” (Tanner, 115) Wet snow lined even the dead cedar branches … Continue reading

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With Renewed Vigor in His Step

Sunshine warmed the glade. Overhead, a gentle breeze rustled drying, brown, yellow and crimson leaves. To the south, a pair of blue jays swooped side-by-side from a tall red oak, then parted ways. A young doe wearing its first winter … Continue reading

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The Intent of This Glorious Journey

A button buck stood and stared. Thick black hair bristled down the top of his neck, not long, but noticeable. The black mane, a genetic trait that first appeared forty or so years ago, shows up from time to time … Continue reading

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Seeking a Friendly Puddle

A cloud line angled southwest to northeast. To the northwest, the sky was clear and deep blue. Overhead the moon’s last quarter shone bright through a break in the dark grey clouds. The canoe slipped silent into blackish water. A … Continue reading

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“Msko-waagosh ndizhnikaas”

Snowflakes cling to the trade blanket’s crimson nap. The woolen shell is more white than red. The black stripe is a pale gray, a nothingness hue that matches the firmament. The Northwest gun’s lock nestles against my right elbow, tucked … Continue reading

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A Dubious Claim to Fame

The Northwest gun’s front sight found a British soldier’s neck. As the death messenger crossed the clearing it would drop, and if true, would strike the Redcoat mid-chest. The black flint lunged. Sparks streamed. Gunpowder flashed. A brilliant yellow tongue … Continue reading

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