I sit quietly in the waning hours of sunset. My patient nature works to my advantage on such nights as this. My thoughts wander to my wife and children, doing their part in preparing for winter, storing up the last of our harvest. I anticipate how next year will be different when my son will accompany me on this hunt—the oldest in my quiver, with his own bow and quiver. The slight crunch of leaves returns my attention to the clearing in front of me and my sight is set—on both the future and the present—as I draw my arrow across the bow.
for changing seasons ~
the moon rises