Some of the greatest gifts of the deer hunt have nothing to do with deer. Like sitting ten yards from the morning commute path of three great blue herons, swooshing by through the mist. Or having a chickadee dance its staccato way up a gnarled hawthorn branch at a distance almost better measured in inches than feet. Or the smell of artemisia brushing your camouflage as you nestle hopefully into a position of concealment. Or simply having no distraction, no unnecessary comfort, nothing between you and the expanses of time and Nature. Backstrap feeds the body; these things feed the soul.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Sep 2013 17:22:25 +0000
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