A hunt in the woods returns no provisions, but deep reflection

It was the day before Christmas and all through the trees;

the snow was thigh-deep; way past my knees.

My snares were hung in the trails with care,

in hopes that a hare would soon run there.

--

The bunnies were snugged tight in tunnels under the snow;

willow bark doesn’t call at forty below.

My snowshoes sunk deep as I trudged along;

it was looking like Christmas dinner might be a prayer and song.

--

Then what to my excited eyes did appear?

A mess of sharptail tracks — and they looked to be near!

I picked up the pace and cocked my gun;

A bit of luck and I might get one!

--

I spotted the flock, a mom and her summer’s chicks,

I lowered my gun; that family of birds was not on my list.

I slung the rifle and turned away;

A hen and her babes should be allowed to run free, today.

--

The solstice shadows were long on the snow,

I turned back toward the cabin; I had quite a way to go.

The waning moon, hung in the sky;

A great gray owl winged silently by.

--

Two ravens flew in a noisy pair,

headed to roost — who knows where?

Red-backed vole tracks threaded the ground,

I saw the hole where he went down.

--

A fox had circled sniffing in hope;

gauged the depth of the snow and decided; nope!

A couple of coyotes had been by, a couple days previous,

I knew I wouldn’t see them, they are quite devious.

--

There were places where lichens had been dug from the ground,

so I was sure that caribou were close around.

Then I saw them, just a flash in the trees,

they might have been reindeer; away like the breeze.

--

The aurora was bright in the east as I trekked closer to home,

hungry I was, from my six mile roam.

There would be no hares or birds for Christmas Day,

but no small critters would have to pay.

--

Trapping is fine and hunting can be good,

but there are things that need be understood.

We should be mindful, especially on Christmas Day;

taking a life is never for play.