Caws of Autumn

I try never to brood about time passing, but from time to time fall prey and need to remind myself that even if I did belabor time passing, it wouldn’t change it.

Specifically about deer hunting, I remember in my youth agonizing at the mercy of a calendar ticking down the days until opening day. As the date edged nearer, sleep came harder, so it seemed entirely reasonable in those days to beg time to fly.

But then it flew.

Suddenly, I have been hunting a lifetime, and although I no longer lose sleep over it, my appreciation toward more far-reaching complexities intensifies.