A frosty fall mornin' the bucks are in rut.
Better days are here, I feel it in my gut.
I leave the house, and walk up past the barn,
Up across the fields, to the back of the farm.

My mind is at ease, as I stroll along,
Remembering hunts, forever gone.
Its just before daybreak, and I head for my stand.
Sneakin' through the woods, with my bow in my hand.

I reach the tree; attach the stand;
Climb twenty feet; and survey the land.
Strap myself in, pull up my gear.
Settle in, and wait for deer.

The woods settles. I blend in.
Slowly -- I drop powder to check the wind.
It's all perfect, perfect as can be.
Me - sittin' here in this red oak tree.

My mind wanders. I reminisce.
I regret the hunts, that I have missed.
For whatever reasons, I couldn't be there,
With family and friends, in the cool autumn air.

Time spent hunting, with family and friends,
Are times that you wish, would never end.
Subtle movement, patches of brown.
Caught again... sittin' down.

A buck and a doe. Feeding along.
They haven't sensed that something is wrong.
Smugly, I sit, and smile,
Watching deer all the while.

I think I've won today.
I've sat in this tree, and fooled my prey.
Some family and friends are gone now.
None of us last forever that's clear.

The moral of the story, I think,
Is make the most of your time, get out and hunt deer.

- Brent Bacon ©

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