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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
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Author Notes
Shadow lives. I have not found much. Just pieces of me. A purpose, new words to write. A warm smile inside. A spirit lost has returned. I write, because I want to, not because I have to. I quit my part time job.
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©
Copyright 2024.
Walter L. Jones
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Walter L. Jones
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