Snug furs on long winter days Hunted by the young men Prepared by the elders Painstaking work with no complaints Just smiles around the fire Shadows dancing on toothless faces Silhouettes against the cold blue sky Twilight and the smell of bonfires Beacons frown down from high hills Smoked breath from deep warm hearts. Sleepy safety from the Watchmen The sea a black pool of dark sagas Tonight he will dream of beasts Tomorrow he will hunt to kill The young men will guide him Into the foreboding forest To the din of the hounds And the breaking voice of youth Otherwise silence in the cold still With a fleeting glimpse of sun. He ran laughing over hidden tussocks Struggling against the deep snow He tripped face-down into meltwater The taste was that of willow and moss Fresh like the dawning day He lifted his head and laughed He gazed up at the gulls and mountains A glimpse, an insight into life A moment shared with the ancestors The hunt would not wait for tomorrow.
© Severn Dwyer. 2015