That’s “Hill-William” To You, Sir!

The setting is dark blue, almost indigo as the earliest

slivers of sunlight

to the east cast off the blanket of dark that

dominated this country only twenty minutes before. 

 

The stars can still be seen, faintly,

just out of reach of the oncoming sunlight. 

 

The hillside to the east that the sun seems to be slowly

ascending is bathed in color as the entire horizon

in this direction is a magnificent combination of

reds, yellows, purples,

and every imaginable hue in between. 

     

Between us and the early sunrise, oak trees fill the portrait. 

The oaks stand tall and sturdy,

almost regal in their stubbornness to withstand

this unforgiving country. 

 

The leaves that once sprang from their

branches are mostly gone, as it is mid-November now.

 

 Small, condensation-ridden spider webs sag

in between the mostly bare limbs,

webs few in number because most of the

woods-spiders have made their annual pilgrimage

back below the soil for winter.  

 

In this early morning setting of peaceful emptiness

we can almost hear the sounds of a squirrel chittering,

or a turkey coming down from its roost. 

When we look closer, however, we behold

 

an awesome sight.  Steam pluming from its nostrils,

chest swelled proud, stands a mature male whitetail

that rivals even the stubborn oaks in girth. 

 

Upon his head an astounding set of antlers,

contrasting with the darkness

so greatly that they appear alabaster in color. 

He seems to be momentarily transfixed by the coming

sunrise that he views through the oaks,

the onset of another day. 

 

In one of these stout oak trees, twenty feet

above the leaf litter of the forest floor,

the viewer spies a dark figure standing on a platform.

      

This dark figure, his back facing the eastward sun,

cares nothing about the picturesque horizon behind him. 

The dark figure registers the chittering squirrels

 

with only the slightest acknowledgment. 

The figure, in this moment, ignores

the rest of his surroundings.  The figure is the epitome

of absolute concentration.  He stands on a small

 

steel platform, facing us, never knowing or caring

that he is being watched in that instant of time. 

He stands fully upright, back stiff, every muscle

and ligament in his body pulled taut in anticipation. 

 

In the dark figure’s hands we see an instrument that –

although new in technology –

has been around for millennia.  An instrument that,

having only started with wood and

dried animal sinew, has brought to a terminus

the existence of countless numbers of Man and Beast alike. 

 

He holds a modern version of an ancient tool,

a fitting instrument considering he,

at the basest part of his existence,

is simply nothing more than

a modern version of an ancient Man. 

 

His killing-tool drawn back, fingers

holding the string reaching back right

to the corner of his tightly pursed lips. 

 

Guided in a downward angle, the arrow

poised to deliver a lightning-quick death-blow

whenever the Man wishes it to. 

 

This man, with his dark camouflage draped from

head to toe, his face dissimulated by mixing the

right amounts of green, brown, and black paint.

Beyond the camouflage face-paint, a clenched jaw,

an image of grisly aplomb. 

Set in this dour face are two eyes focused

in almost to the point of closed, thin white slits

that are completely immersed in the task at hand. 

We cannot take our gaze away from the man’s eyes,

completely animated yet totally devoid of anything

that could be considered a human emotion. 

One would take pity on anything that these eyes were focused on,

because it would see that these eyes are

unwavering, unflinching, barely human at all. 

These eyes, despite their elaborate nerve network,

optical rods and cones, are only able to see

one action in this moment: The Kill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We step back from the portrait and move on,

leaving Man and Beast, frozen in this small instant of time. 

 

As we leave, we take notice once again

of the sun trying to peek out over the horizon,

and the faint stars of the night-sky

that are just out of reach of the oncoming sunlight.