Bounty Hunter

 

Deep into the wood line

the mighty pines

completely obstruct the sun.
No matter the bright
it is always twilight
on the forest floor.
 
Frosted with layers of snows
the branches
like beckoning arms
fill with thick blankets
of hush and silence.
 
It is impossible to pass
and not be heard by predators
animal and human.
 
I step cautiously
supremely aware of myself
my breath exhales in a white veil
my lungs rattling with cold
bitter and revelatory.
 
My gloved fingers burn
with cold
and I grip my thirty ought six
as though it alone
is my solitary link
to the land of the living.
 
The winter wildwood is charming.
 
I hear small birds, squirrels and others
chirp and chatter softly around me.
 
Until they cease
like an unseen conductor waved
his wand
and on que everything swallowed
their songs and chippers.
 
That’s when that mortal sound stopped, chilled me
and I knew, I too
would sleep in the snowy blanket
with all the woodland creatures of the pines.
 
The doubled-click of a shotgun hit my ears
a moment before the buckshot blasted a gaping hole
in my chest.
 
It’s true.
Even looking directly into the sky......

.....all you see are Colorado pine.