The first gobbles start up at 5:00, appearing about a hundred miles away. A light wind is caressing the pine trees and the sound is delightful. A bone chilling rain is pouring down from the heavens but I am protected within the womb like confines of the turkey blind.
The buzz of a woodcock and the drum of a nearby grouse keep me company and a bird call, I knew long ago, serenades me with "Poor Sam Peabody, Peabody".
The collected rain, on the grass, looks delicious, like it should taste like honey. I try and imagine what someone would think if they saw me on my knees licking the lawn and smile.
The awakening flowers and apple blossoms release a fragrance that drifts lazily through the blind lulling me into quite reflection.
A red tailed hawk screams out of the sky and snatches a mouse from the meadow and then just as quickly flies away. I marvel at his speed and precision.
The turkeys don't seem to want to corporate but the show provided by the flora and fauna lifts my spirit and moves my soul.
Why do we hunt? You might just as well be ask, why do we live or for that matter exist at all? An outdoors man is permanently and deeply connected to the wild places of this earth and a flame of passion burns deep within his heart.