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Opening Day

The bitter air violates my skin as I step out of the truck and start up the old military road

The white mist of my own breath visible in spots where a break in the canopy allows the moon to shine

Dad and I traverse in silence, our headlamps lead the way

But make no mistake, we’ve made this same walk hundreds of times

The lamps are simply a means to portray to others a human figure

We stop at the split spruces

This is where we’ll part and where we will meet up after the sun sinks to the west

A short but strenuous climb makes up the last leg of the journey

And this will be made alone

I settle into my office for the day, a large maple nestled four-fifths of the way up a bank

Sweat has formed on my forehead and has temporarily stained my back and legs

Daylight is still 40 minutes away

A brook with a respectable current roars just out of sight, providing what will be the lone constant soundtrack of the day

The darkness comforts me and allows my mind to clear itself of any of its problems and await the impending daylight with eager anticipation

As the start of another season draws near, I can begin to make out the outlines of the neighboring trees

Chickadees, sparrows, and finches rise out their quarters and begin their day by serenading each other while I act as an unexpected, but appreciative audience member

It’s opening day

I have yet to be bored with long and fruitless sits or disappointing scenarios

I have not yet frozen to death while wondering why I was out here

I have only been greeted by the hope and excitement of another deer season

Author: Whipped Owl

Writer Musician Historian Sportsman Loner

4 thoughts on “Opening Day”

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