(Here’s the last of the Carlson triad)
A partridge is flushed
from the trailside brush
in late September’s slanting rays.
Heavy pressure
as the wings lift
up and away, almost free
in slow motion flight
to the line of pines
just yards away.
This moment is pregnant
with life and death –
the trigger compressed
the arrows released.
The action is now, the drama is old,
as the hunt unfolds
Into evening.
bc
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