Once in Seven Days

Familiar paths breed complacency. Over the rise, down the slope, then a long pause beside the stagnant water. A blue jay perched on a wild cherry branch. The forest sentinel waited. The hired hunter waited. Now and again, the pungent aroma of rotting flesh mixed with fall’s leafy perfume. A few minutes ticked away, then… Continue reading Once in Seven Days

The Details Are Up to You

Moonlight, full and bright, illuminated the hollow. Stars sparkled. Shallow breaths turned to drifting clouds. Thick frost made leaves crunch. Sixty or so paces from the brush shelter, buffalo-hide moccasins found the silence of the earthen trail that angled between two knolls. The hired hunter’s shape dropped down the slope to beside the huckleberry swamp’s… Continue reading The Details Are Up to You

“I’m not surprised…”

Geese ke-honked to the east, “Kee-honk, kee-honk, yonk, yonk.” The sight of rhythmic wing beats left little doubt. Two ragged strings took flight. The birds gained altitude, honking all the while. “Kee-honk, kee-honk, yonk, yonk…kee-honk, kee-honk, yonk, yonk…” “They’re turning north,” Bob whispered. “There’s fresh cut corn south of Austin Road,” he added, shaking his… Continue reading “I’m not surprised…”

Geese are my only hope…

Yellow maple leaves fluttered earthward. Elk moccasins hustled along a churned up doe trail. The hasty stalk skirted a small knoll, then crossed two wagon ruts. Tree-to-tree the hired post hunter wove his way through a half dozen black oaks, but paused at the last red oak before the sedge grass. The moon’s last quarter… Continue reading Geese are my only hope…

The Gobbler Roasts the Same

Buffalo-hide moccasins still-hunted north. Intermittent gusts dislodged snow. At the wild apple that grew on the south edge of the cedar grove, wild turkey tracks zigged and zagged in and out of the border trees. Msko-waagosh stood, his eyes unraveling the birds’ morning search for sustenance. He needed to eat, too. Around the bend he… Continue reading The Gobbler Roasts the Same

“It looks too new…”

Deer ears twitched. A second pair, not as alert, plodded behind, then paused. The larger doe watched, then nibbled on a tender twig. She commenced walking north on the mid-hill trail with what little wind there was at her rump. The air was warm and humid, more like early October; unseasonable for late-November. There was… Continue reading “It looks too new…”

“The Finest British Soap…”

Cinnamon-colored hair rippled. A white tail flicked twice. Green oak leaves fluttered, coaxed alive by a warm, southwest breeze. The doe browsed on lush, belly-deep, dew-laden prairie grass. Yellow spears burst forth from the eastern tree line. Long shadows shrouded the meadow. The woodsman sat with his back to a modest red oak. The Northwest… Continue reading “The Finest British Soap…”

As Seasons Pass

Soft crunches…a steady cadence…upwind… Msko-waagosh paused. A foreleg stepped with no sound, a crackle, then the left foreleg stepped. An ear twitched. The doe’s head disappeared behind a thick oak tree. The returned white captive, taught the ways of the forest his adopted Ojibwe father, dropped to his right knee, taking the form of a… Continue reading As Seasons Pass