predator
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The wind shot a screaming wail over my head, sending anything not tacked to the ground on a rocket shot into the canyon below, which included myself had I not been gripping the granite so hard that my fingernails wanted to bleed. Making myself as small as possible, I cursed the obsession that drove me into a place as nasty as this, on a day as ugly as today; the microburst blew past and brought with it pounding hail and lightning so fast and furious I thought I was in a microwave. Desperately I clung to my perch and prayed that this was not my last mistake.
Finally the monsoon cleared, the sun cleared out and lit up the county below in a stunning sparkling display of color and light and all but drove the terror recently experience from my mind. Perhaps this is why I was here, this is why I walk through such asinine ravines and rabbit punch through scrub oak. Perhaps.
Maybe it's because of the whiff of wet pine I just caught on the last whisper of wind, or is it the sage....or the wet metallic smell granite always seems to have, rain or not? I sit up and reminisce of the many other times I've found myself here or in someother godforsaken place, questioning what I might have been thinking to do what I'm doing.
I pick up my bow by the string and balance it upon my shoulder and the last rolling echo of thunder fades into the descending blackness. That's it, right there....I can smell the cover scent of my bow wax.....and the realization that the smell of fall, the smell of hunting , is upon me.
Breathe deep the smells of fall and revel in the calming, comforting feelings it brings.
I can't wait for it, can you? We do this every year, folks, it's time again.....what's that smell!
Finally the monsoon cleared, the sun cleared out and lit up the county below in a stunning sparkling display of color and light and all but drove the terror recently experience from my mind. Perhaps this is why I was here, this is why I walk through such asinine ravines and rabbit punch through scrub oak. Perhaps.
Maybe it's because of the whiff of wet pine I just caught on the last whisper of wind, or is it the sage....or the wet metallic smell granite always seems to have, rain or not? I sit up and reminisce of the many other times I've found myself here or in someother godforsaken place, questioning what I might have been thinking to do what I'm doing.
I pick up my bow by the string and balance it upon my shoulder and the last rolling echo of thunder fades into the descending blackness. That's it, right there....I can smell the cover scent of my bow wax.....and the realization that the smell of fall, the smell of hunting , is upon me.
Breathe deep the smells of fall and revel in the calming, comforting feelings it brings.
I can't wait for it, can you? We do this every year, folks, it's time again.....what's that smell!
