CAMOUFLAGES

I don my camouflage each fall
and head out to the hinterlands
where the miles make me feel small
among the pine and hardwood stands.

So through the dark I speed my way
beneath the late night moon and stars
well before first light of day
on lonely roads near bare of cars.

Past black woods and brooding glades
past houses with all windows black
with all asleep behind closed shades
long before dawn starts to crack.

Then after miles of two lane road,
and a few of gravel near the end,
I park where loggers used to load
just beyond the last sharp bend.

Now the camouflage of night
fades as stars desert the sky.
I enter the woods at first light
still rubbing the night from each eye.

The grays and blacks of the predawn
give way as daylight comes on fast.
Now that summer's greens are gone
leaves' true colors show at last.

With rifle slung and camo on
supposedly I'm hunting deer.
This year's like others now long gone,
It's camouflage for being here.