Here I sit,
Up in this tree
Looking out upon the land
I think of what my grandpa told me

It’s not about knowing each call.
It’s not how good of a shot you are.
It’s not the camo you wear.
It’s not the gun you use.
It’s not the blind you’re in.

It’s the art of listening.
Listening for each rustle in the skyscrapers of the forest.
Listening for each trickle in the stream.
Observing each animal's behavior.
Observing where they go.
What they consume.

So, as I wait,
Up in this tree,
I look at the wondrous many things God gave me.
He gave me the deer in the fields,
The birds of the air,
The fish in the lake.
He gave me ears to listen.
And eyes to see.
He also gave me this bow in my hands.

Something catches my eye!
A white tailed king,
Owning his ground.
Ten majestic points.
I am like leaves in the wind,
Trembling with excitement.
Slowly,
I am still.
I draw my arrow back and take aim…
Closer...
Closer…
Closer….