3:30am
Dressed in long-johns, camouflaged clothes,
carring knife, box-call, hat, face netting
and gloves

I eat lumpy oatmeal with raisins,
coffee loosens its thick-stickiness
I swallow hard

The hour drive is a blur,
my eyes want to close,
I see double

Cool mist rises from 
the ditches off to the east,
moments to sunrise

Cool morning air fills 
my lungs, I breathe deep
I walk to the calling place
Morning dew penetrates my boots,
my feet are instantly soggy

Eagle stares down at me
then lifts off a dead oak limb
Looking back at me, I imagine him saying
"You don't belong here"

I must be dreaming
these woods are too beautiful,
wild flowers reach up out of 
morning dew to curtsey a 
fragrant greeting

Hawk circling above
screeches out a warning,
"I can see all the way into you"

Grouse, unaware of my presence
I wish they'd stay this dumb when
season arrives

Pines spiny-finger-tips
swell fat with new growth,
their aroma makes my groin shiver 
with lust of life

I practice the box call
Tom gobbles back
for nearly an hour
He is not serious
he teases, then disappears

Coyote skulks away
angered at the thought 
of being found

First sign, prints in wet sand,
three long clawed-toes
A circle of sand-ridges
one on top of another

Prunning and grooming
Proof, they have been here,
disappointment, they're not here now

Columbines red as blood
soften my step and
sweeten my lips

The hole is so small,
yet, fat ole raccoon
folds itself in half
disappearing into the tree
I wonder, how

SLAP beaver tail
hits the water
My heart beats hard,
beaver looks at me
pools water as he swims away

Chipmunk chatters unfriendly greetings
"I"ll not share these acorns,
had them hid in that hollow
oak all winter"

All scrambling for the warmest spots,
several dozen turtles sun themselves
on fallen trees barely hanging on to 
eroding river banks

Rain-soaked shaking bodies
and cold numb fingers
trying to light stubborn twigs

Finally catching,
yellow grass smokes and sputters
Fingers and toes start to warm
and tingle

After two days rain,
river rises to normal depths
Duck ponds turn green and thick
After two days, fiddle heads open
and turn green and full

Shadow spirits play tricks
on anxious eyes waiting
for a sighting of strutting Toms
and spreading tail feathers

Woodtics invade areas of my body
I am forced to explore often
I feel them at my ankles
they march like soilders up
to the nape of my neck

Wood ducks
set in tree tops
I aim for their head 
and tell them to wait
there until autumn

Birds sing so loud,
I cannot hear my own breath
But, I feel it rise with passion

Three deer stand and stare
they're not sure what they see
They wait, motionless, until I leave

12:00 noon, season ends
No trophy turkey for me,
I don't mind, birds still sing,
the poplars smell great,
this is enough for me