I am different than most.
My idea of a perfect afternoon is one spent in silence,
Observing the golden glow of the warm fall sun fade into dusk.
My hopes and dreams stream through my mind,
My senses are alive and fined tuned to the forest, waiting,
Waiting to report that one tell tale sound,
The crack of a stick, the whisper of grass, or a hoof striking stone.
With each passing moment, my anticipation grows,
Will tonight be the night?
As I wait in ambush for my prey,
I find a deeper connection to my predatory instincts.
I am different than most,
I am a traditional bow hunter.