Yard Sale of Thoughts

Over the horizon,
the hunter moon
takes to the cloudy woods,
camouflaged in rotting leaves
ready for a fair chase and
sport most kingly.

The hunter waits
for night's dangerous game,
lamping the fields
to hear the rustling year
grazing unassumingly 
and make a clean kill–
pine cone on a fallen tree
never to reach maturity.

All fear death,
so hunter, slaughter quickly.
Anthocyanin trail be faint, 
to come home empty-handed
at this late date
with winter approaching
is not a possibility.

©2023 | K.F. Hartless

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Cover Art: Hunter Moon, Virginia