SUCCESS

The snow on these sentinel trees
melts slowly then drops to below
though tonight it will all refreeze
when the frigid north winds blow.

One drop well aimed goes down my neck
as I slowly walk through winter woods
listening to woodpecker's peck
where a long pine's shadow broods.

White barely blankets duffy ground
yet it muffles each foot fall
so almost silent I make my round
while up ahead jays fuss and call.

On hearing them I freeze and look
toward a cedar thicket growing near
just across a murmuring brook.
It might be they're scolding a deer.

Then I see a flick of white
which studied becomes a tail.
Like magic a small buck comes in sight
following a dim game trail.

I raise my gun, crosshairs on shoulder,
watch his head rise scenting air
there where deep cedar needles moulder.
He's tracking a doe over there.

He quickly steps from tree to tree
then suddenly he's gone from sight.
I lower rifle and flex knees
as day slowly approaches night.

I smile, deciding hunt's at end
then turn my big feet back to home.
Not every deer I see I send
to final rest on forest's loam.

The fact I'd seen a deer at all
makes this day's hunt a memory
which years from now I can recall
like so many things the woods show me.