Visions of Antlers Running Through My Head

The bull was bedded in the timber at the top of a spur ridge running off the mountain. There were no tracks on the side from which I approached so his appearance caught me by surprise.

My rifle was slung, and he was gone before I could bring it to my shoulder.

In one leap he vanished, only to reappear in my dreams. I can still see him if I want, whenever I close my eyes.

He’s bigger now. Those that got away seldom shrink in size.

I’ve shot other bulls – some large, some small -- and their antlers hang on the walls of my home. I can remember where I killed each one, although not as cle...