The day is without season,
The warmth of yesterday, the cool breeze of tomorrow.
No clouds above, the sunlight as bright as heaven.
Air alive with the pungency of earth and the sweetness of flowers.
The hunter and the marsh are united once more.
A scene acted out countless times before, and each knows his role well.
The grass dances in the breeze to the sonnet of songbirds.
The hunter intensely aware of the present, his previous steps forgotten.
His game bag fills quickly and without effort.
The marsh and its bounty have again been gifted to the hunter.
His needs are met and the hunter accepts no more,
For it will be but a short time before the next act.

God Bless America!

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