The Precise Moment

The sun has just begun to break on horizon but he was already up by two hours preparing for this moment.  His piercing green eyes looked up for a moment to see the slight edge of the sun making its mark amongst the darkness of the looming mounds and will soon see its own reflection.  He had been waiting for this very precise moment and the look of determination he has is unwavering.  There was nothing in his way and should anything interfere he would not have another chance.  He furrowed his brown brows in a frown for a brief second, took in a deep breath of the morning air and slowly exhaled as he began to bend down to look into his 30 year old green duffel bag to look for the soft blue-green rag that he knew was there.

He was in the perfect spot and knew it as he had been eyeing the area for the past few months.  Very quietly and gently he picked up his piece that was resting up against the tree as he began to wipe it down lightly from one end to the other.  In the left breast pocket of the tan and green windbreaker he is wearing sits the one and only silver tipped copper he would have at achieving his determined goal.  Failure is not an option as he has been preparing for this the past month.  

Living in the surrounding area for over 45 years, he has adapted and blended in extremely well.  The ability to wake up in the mornings without an alarm to see the sun rise brings complacent expressions to his face every day and today's only exception is the mission at hand.  As he listens intently to the sounds around him, he closes his eyes briefly to determine from which direction each one is coming from.  An occasional bird can be heard as it greets the early morning.  The left corner of his mouth raises slightly as he crinkles his eyes a bit and thinks to himself it's almost time.  Mischief dances in the light of his eyes as he reaches for the chair and without a sound moves it closer to the trees that will strategically obscure his position without blocking his vision of the intended target when it appears.  Nestling into the chair, he takes out of his breast pocket the silver tipped copper piece to drop it into the open action of the blue 22 inch steel.  Normally, he brings his black, long haired companion but not today.  Drawing up his left foot, he lets his ankle rest on his right knee as he places across his lap the seven pound piece.  

While watching the sun begin to crest just above the peak of the mountain tops it begins to drop a reflection of itself across the tranquility of the valley.  It is at this precise moment that his wait is just about done.  He sits up straighter in the seat as his eyes scan across the water and his grip tightens above the stock into the trigger guard while pivoting the muzzle to point towards the bank on the other side of the riverbed.

Slowly, a brown figure brushes the trees enough to capture his attention.  In slow motion, he rises as he eases off gently the safety while beginning to deftly point the barrel towards the figure as it starts to come out to the bank for a drink.  Slipping his finger into the trigger, he positions himself as he watches her ears twitching for unusual sounds.  Finally, as she brings her head down and her tongue becomes wet, he gently squeezes all the way ejecting the silver tipped copper piece to travel down the barrel towards the muzzle at its intended aimed target; the deer.

© Libby Baez, All Rights ReservedThru Libby's Eyes, ©July 17, 2013

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