North winds spill over the land,
laden with chill and hope.
Season is now at hand,
I uncase my bow.
Well-worn lugs on boots,
Impress into autumn earth.
Conform around rocks and roots,
Treading over life-giving dirt.
The woods rustle soft,
Concealing my entry.
Pitching my gaze aloft,
My stand looms as a sentry.
I climb the ladder and wonder,
What deer might walk by.
That my arrow might lay asunder,
After halting in my sight.
I breathe deep the cool evening air,
All is potential and waiting.
Rat farts! I left my release in the truck.
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