Out in the dark and lonesome
in the woods and on the hills
To be here anytime
is how I get my thrills.

To feel a misty mornin'
damp upon my face -
To know that daylight's comin',
that night will leave no trace.

To stumble through the darkness
in the woods I know so well
Memories, reality,
sometimes I just can't tell.

Sometimes I feel my father near
though he's since passed away
'Twas springtime when he left us
on a sunny day in May.

The memories are many
They're everywhere I look.
Sometimes, I think that I should
sit down and write a book.

In the spring we'd tap those maples;
In the summer we'd cut hay
Early fall, the crops would call -
oats and corn would fill our day.

Yeah, the memories are many
and the hunting ones are best.
Someday, I'll tell 'em all to you,
right now this needs a rest.

It's time to watch Ma Nature
do a painting in the sky:
She'll do it quick, so watch her
do it right before your eyes.

She starts with that black canvas
in the east o'er on that hill;
Subtle strokes of pink and orange
she just can't get her fill.

She's paintin' fast and furious
you know she's doin' her best,
Using yellows now, and soon some blues,
chasin' darkness to the west.

Sunrise is just a bonus:
the day... is why I'm here.
I've got my favorite rifle;
I'm gonna hunt some deer.

- Brent Bacon ©

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