Sunday Morning Gunshots

Sunday Morning Gunshots

By John R. Greenwood

Cool not cold

One damp November morning

Early morning walk beckoned

I grabbed a coat

Hunting season

The smell of wet oak leaves permeate the air

Hunters rejoice

Deer take cover

I understand thinning of the herd

Yet, I cheer for them

To escape the harm

The bullets spray their way

The early morning silence is broken

In the hilltops while I walk

Bang, bang, bang, bang

I cringe

Bang, bang, bang

I cringe again

Why so many?

Why so many?

November deer

Helpless to escape

Run

Scatter

Hide

Dodge the bullets

That come their way

Oh what a quiet morning

Shattered by that sound

As my steps bring me closer to the wood

I tilt my head

Bang, bang, bang

How many deer could there be?

I tilt my head, trying to decipher the reason

Why so many?

Could the deer be fighting back,

Surrounding hunters and giving chase?

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang

My early morning search

For solitude and peace

Has turned into a nightmare

As I began to turn, and go back home to quiet walls

The sound seems clearer

More sorted

More familiar

I’ve heard that sound before

A sound I’ve made myself

The sound an early morning hammer makes

An anxious man

Hammer in hand

An early morning project

Roofing nails

Hammered down

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang

Everyone wins this cool November morning

The deer escape

The man with the hammer, his roof complete

My walk fulfilled, my heart, is light

The hunter

Sits and waits

And smells the wet oak leaves

And dreams of points to grace his wall...

J.R.G.11.15.09