When I got the wild hair that camping out alone
in the mountains’ icy night
was a great way to put new ground under our feet
in search of a Virginia grouse
if you‘d told me that the only thing we’d flush
was a face to face with a big ass black bear
that we’d have to strike camp in the thaw and rain on the last day of the year
I don’t just think I’d have taken a pass
I know I would’ve.
And I’d have missed a pair of perfect breakfasts
from a cast-iron skillet on a camp wood stove
boots, briar pants, and flannel soaked in the sweet smell of hot bacon grease.
I’d have missed one night cold and clear under a canopy of stars
and another lulled to dreamless sleep by wind gusts
and by the pattering beat of raindrops on canvas.
I’d have missed thinking my boy had found what we were after
in a hole under deadfall
only to witness the clatter and crash of a black-furred behemoth fleeing its den.
The lumbering denizen of the woods would’ve missed being startled awake
by a face so soft and inquisitive and innocent
that even a sleepy irritated bear wouldn't wish it harm.
I’d have missed resting together in a high lonesome field
then strolling away December’s final hours
with my very good boy.
And so this I know: were we gifted the boon
of the broad brush strokes of foreknowledge
for every mess and bloody tragedy we’d avoid
we’d give grace, love, and the breath of God on mercy’s far shore the slip fourscore more.
About the Author:
Robb’s current motivating interests lie at the intersection of outdoor pursuits (including fly fishing and upland hunting), how human beings discover and create meaning and strive for love and goodness while at the same time confronting the reality of our own mortality and the inherent and inescapable impermanence of all earthly, time-bound things.
A graduate of the University of Richmond (English Literature) and the University of Chicago (History of Religions, Tibetan and South Asian Religious Traditions), Robb Moore has pursued the meaning of life from Tibetan Buddhist monasteries in the Kathmandu valley to the ivory towers of the academy, to Christian ritual as clergy, and hospital bedsides. Recruited as a bird hunter in his mid-40s by his spunky Brittany pup, Lincoln, he is still on the hunt, but only for birds, his heart having found its rest in walking meditation and the Tao of Bird Dogs. Follow along.
