by Brian Troyer

Created on: July 02, 2009

I crouch beneath Father Oak and silently sweep past Brother Pine, smelling the rich aroma of his needles. My moccasins quiet my steps as I creep beneath the trees- my brothers. Birds twitter happily in the branches above me, close enough to reach up and touch them. They do not see me, and I pause to enjoy their music. I move on, bow on my shoulder, arrows in the quiver at my back, sneaking along with skill passed down to me from my fathers. Leaves whisper all around me, awakened by the wind of my ancestors. Father Sun peeks through the boughs in tiny flickers. Only he sees me as I hunt. I hear the bubbling, gurgling trickle of Father Mountain's stream. I stoop to drink, and as the cool water runs down my throat, I imagine Mountain's white crown far above me. It is from this crown that the water flows, melted by the spring sun. I silently thank him for the gift and prepare to continue my hunt. As I raise my head, my muscles tense, and I look into the deep, glassy eyes of a deer. I did not hear him arrive, and we stare at each other in a calm surprise. His wet nose quivers, smelling the spring air, but he stands still, regarding me. Slowly I remove the bow from my shoulder and reach for an arrow. Yet, the deer stands still. I fit the arrow onto my string, its feathers shivering in the quiet breeze. The deer cocks his foot back, but remains firm. I pull the arrow toward my face, the bow creaking as it bends, and I look deeply into the liquid eyes staring back before me. As I gaze, I see Father Mountain, who holds my brothers, and sisters, and ancestors. I see the Great River, the flowing source of life for so many. I see Father Eagle soaring high above, wisely observing those below. The glassy eyes stare back. Brother Deer has shown me much. His nose quivers again, and I lower my bow. He bounds away through the trees, soft thuds swallowed by the silence. I watch him go, and I smile. That is my prayer.

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