mr natural sunshine blotter
to be specific
given by a house painter friend
i got the 12 gauge and shell vest
called up Smokestack the bird dog
and drove to a vast Oklahoma hunting preserve
after Smokestack had pissed on enough bushes
and i was geared up, locked and loaded
we walked off into the trees and meadows
all brown and gray and olive drab
dead grass snapped and whispered as we passed
going nowhere in particular
just me following my dog
in the crisp fall woods
Smokestack moved in quick short arcs
his nose in the grass
then stopped dead, leaning taut, pointing at a thick hummock
quail burst from the grass
small camouflaged explosions
accelerating straight up then out
Smokestack jumped forward
enthralled, the gun cradled unused in my arm
i watched them go, glide and land
invisible in the tree line
we walked on into a large clearing
grass waist high
i sat down, the grass tops above my head
shotgun resting across my lap
Smokestack was ranging about far away
i could hear his every move
small creatures scurried about and dug into the earth
birds chittered and spoke to me from the trees
the grass moved gently with the wind
playing the quiet symphony of the fields
after some while, for time had little meaning
i whistled up my dog
and we went home
11/27/18
COPYRIGHT MICHAEL DOUGLAS SCOTT
