a run with the hunted
The crack-crack-crack of rifleshot from the woods is unsettling during my pre-dawn dirt-road run. Even with a reflective orange vest and mini clip-on light, I expect the side of my skull to explode at any moment. I wonder if I’m ever scoped for the hell of it, the vulnerable subject of some hunter's power trip. I've had to train myself to find assurance in the sound of gunshot, for the boom always follows the bullet. Each shot I hear means I’ve been spared. Never break stride.
posted by caleb d. at 5:42 PM
6 Comments:
Nice piece. Makes me think of our kids in Iraq. Replace "orange vest" and "mini light" with "camo" and "body armour".
indeed; astute observation, cap'; where tha hell ya been, anyway?
Lurking and learning, my friend.
well, thanks for stopping by; learn anything of interest during your lurkings?
Yeah, I need to blow the dust off my Bukowski.
If you haven't seen it already, you should rent the documentary Born Into This; Harry Dean Stanton's reading of Bluebird at the end will break your heart.
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