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A hike in the woods.

I brought them out here.  Gun shots in the distance.

Put on your bright clothes.  The hunters are far away, though.  They won’t hurt us here.

It wasn’t always gun shots.  They started with their bows.

Quiet.

We couldn’t even tell they were here.

And then gun season.

I brought them out here.  Too beautiful to be inside.

A blanket on the forest floor.  Long periods of peace in between shots.  A resolution of comfort, my girl lying with her book, her head on my lap.  The leaves crunch beneath us.

The encompassing forest, I see the trees I choose.

The big ones, with branches high.

My idea of the wood.

The shadows of others make their way in my line of sight.

The sun makes its way in the cracks of limbs, revealing the roots of all of its composition.

Do I choose to look?

The small trees muddle my truth.

Do I choose to look?

I have them here with me.  The hunters’ shots get louder.

I have to look.

I nourish the fate of all of us.

I have to look.

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