Hunt and Gather

I see a shadow pacing leisurely across the ramparts and know
Instinctively that it is him, the hunter, by the manner of his stride.
My basket and pouch are full to overflowing with herbs and roots
Gathered with decisive intent, and the sun is long past settled.
My skin is sticky with perspiration and the essence of summer forest;
Yet I tarry here at the edge of the field, more than slightly intrigued.
The display of torch flames dotted along the wall affect a longing in me
That I cannot ignore, a foolish whim wafting through my solitary heart.
With a sigh, I look up smirking at the quarter moon and almost wish.
A crackling of branches behind me serves to displace me from temporary
Folly, and I turn back into the night woods along the path leading home.
I look upon the regal form of the stag making his way through the fallen
Brush, and we regard each other in respectful silence through the mist.
If we could exchange purpose but for one night my brother, I would be
The object of his primal chase and you could roam without wariness.
The thought paints a scene in my mind so frighteningly alluring that I
Laugh aloud into the darkness to mask the nervous burning within.
The stag snorts and trails away quickly through the guardian oaks,
And I calibrate my ears to the approaching sound of hoof beats on the moss.
With urgency, I gather my skirts and scamper into a thicket, not wanting
To announce my presence and unsure of how best to proceed in retreat.
Shining black muscles flex and stretch in the moonlight as the warrior's
Steed gallops assuredly past my hidden sentry post mid briar patch.
Allowing myself to release a long shuddering breath, I step lightly back
Out of the branches and take immediate notice that my pouch is gone.
I suppress the urge to curse the night as a strand of hair tumbles and
Tickles my nose; the bag is surely ensnared.....or did I simply drop it?
Lowering myself to my knees, I extend fully each finger to make the
Retrieval of the day's bounty as swift and uncomplicated as possible.
My right hand is suddenly exploring what can only be a roughened boot.
Surely I must have died because I can no longer detect the beat of my pulse.
Fear has gripped me from all angles; I have not the strength to stand.
I am lifted in an instant with a peculiar combination of gentleness and strength
Until I am once more upright, although dizzy with confusion and fright.
And I am, if I raise myself to the tips of my feet and tilt my head upward,
Once and for all face to face with the hunter I have watched from afar.
Words would do no justice to the chaos flitting about inside me were I able to
Produce a single sound; instead I marvel at the intensity of his hungry gaze.

Copyright 2014 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved

photo public domain via pixabay

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