Posts
You walk into a field.
In the distance you see something
leaning against a tree.
On closer inspection you see
a target leaning against an old oak tree.
And in the target is an arrow,
not in the bull's eye,
but close--one circle outward.
A hawk circles in the blue sky
above the trees behind
the concentric red designs.
You look all around; no one
in sight.
The arrow has brown feathers
on the end,
the color of sparrows that fight
for seeds in your feeder at home.
You think about pulling the arrow out
to inspect its point--
to see if it is like the ancient Cherokee
flint ones that you used to find
on your grandfather's farm
in Kentucky.
But you let it go.
What's the point?
It's hard for you to believe
in the existence of bows,
though you guess it's possible.
But definitely not the Archer.
The breeze feels good on your face
under the scorching sun.
No rain clouds in sight.
The weather man has broadcast
an error again.
Computer models aren't perfect.
You turn to leave and notice a doe
at the edge of the tree line.
She is staring at you with
big eyes.
She has just come up out of
the creek, mouth still dripping with water.
She has satisfied her panting.
