The Hunter
For Bryon and Ralph
By g.l.bass (the ghostbear still lives)

Sun climbs above eastern skies
Cloud over cloud colors the eye,
Crisp, bright orange its light crawls and lies
Warm, upon cold, snow covered times.

The forest breathes steam from
Cattail marsh.
Ice air hangs harsh in icicles
From fingers of pine.
Ankle deep snow covers the trail,
Down the fence line,
From forest to farm.

A lone hunter stands above,
Hidden on the high point of the ridge.
Only breath plumes tell of his
Secret stand.
He watches intent across the
Woods and marshland

More than the cold,
More than the snow,
More than sun’s hand
Crawling across the land,
In all his survey,
On this Thanksgiving Day,
He feels deep in his soul
The awe of God’s hand
And artistry
Upon the land.
From the bending fence line
T0 drift sculptures and designs
Across the forest floor,
From sun- streaked gleam
Through Marshland cattail,
To majestic pines at attention
As soldiers high on the ridge,
He gives thanks for all
Of God’s beautiful blessings
Across this land.
He gives thanks
For a Hunter’s soul
Let free to be
A spirit in harmony and balance
With forest and marshland