Came the full morning, bowsights sharp as a razor and soft wind in my favor.
The wash below seemed even steeper, my advantage greater. Warm enough to take off the hood. After 5 hours on stand it still felt prime. I stood and drew a couple times to freshen up. The woods had begun normal operations and I could look around and enjoy it in perfect position, giving nothing away. It was all profit.
A kind of rhythm had developed and I don�t know where it comes from except there�s a hunter inside who makes it and with that rhythm one looks left and right, up and down as needed, missing nothing. A wren inspecting boulders 35 yards away, a junco in the bush aside, a raven at half a mile. A strong look to left pulled on my jaw. Up the wash. Small and black rising, black falling. Its twin rising and falling beside. Alternating in time two blacks and a blackness of face and far, far behind a tiny black from side to side. The paws and face and tail took form within a lion. On the trail.
She came as if from the actual soil and made no sound at all. A singular lack of sound and there should have been �There�s a lion!� in thought but that did not come either. She looked made of power tightly bound in perfection. Somewhere far an awareness �Look at her how could this be.�
She passed the oak bush and I stood. Another and the bow was drawn. At 33 yards the arrow struck rock under her belly and she leapt, without gathering herself or speed, six feet straight up then 90 degrees to left. Leapt for some 20 feet. She flew a kind of cat flight and came to earth and tore up the mountain. I heard her plow through brush and throw leaves and stone. I should have seen her but I cannot see that fast. I sat down and shook for a long time.
