I had left for solitude into the hill. A hunting trip taken to find myself. Age had taken me. Family raised more or less. No place of feeling. Values measured and marked. Purpose in sharing written words. Empty was the soul. Mind cascading in doubt. Rented a cabin in the north woods. Strange had not hunted since leaving the service. Gun thing turned me off.


Calls of wind come down the hill
Scent brought creatures for the kill

Cast of rodents in the lead
Waiting sad is the need

Caught in the verse of worth
and burnt there in hearth

Pinecones ring crackle the sound
The embers ghost dance all around

Craft they say it in the wax found
I will be shadow left dead on the ground

Deer whose life they give to save
Winter was cold as the stove in the hill
But the food was plenty result of the kill

Rodents dined in time on grain
Old man accepted her pain (spirit of the woods)

Earth called him but he was gone
Saved a few hungry and moved on

In the quiet of the morning by candle light
I found the book of Jobe and read long in the night

Mind cast in places only dreamers see
Foul the smell of burning souls like me

Doubt upon the mantle fire in the hearth
Loving her was me for all I was worth

Fever gone as the day wore into shadow
Sweat drips in place mixed with old tallow (candles)

A soft hand touches me to my core
A cool wind mixes with the bottle on the floor

Deer skin warm covers the Christian store
She walks out into the sun