The Moment

I sit quietly in the cool pre-dawn air. Silence has befallen the land save for my own breathing. It's calm now. Peaceful. I close my eyes for a better listen. Yep, silence. Ahhh, these moments are few and far between and I'm reveling in every second of it. I'm a little winded after the long walk to this spot but I nevertheless try to quiet my pumping heart and slow my heavy breathing before the moment is lost. It's an exercise in relaxation therapy and lends itself to adding further appreciation to the moment.

I look up at the fading stars. There are seemingly millions of them. I can even see the chalky hue of the Milky Way. Can't see that back home in the city. Too much light pollution and too few open spaces between the trees and buildings to get a good look anyway. I wonder if Edison had an affinity for stars. And if so, would that have affected his work at inventing the light bulb were he made aware of the inevitable "pollution" his invention would later cause.

For an instant, I'm alone in the world. Looking up at the stars I neither see nor hear any indication that there is any other human life on this world. I'm completely left with my own thoughts. It's feeling of utter serenity; of peace; of solitude. A welcome reprieve from the "real world" and the all-too-much civility and modernity of everyday life. I don't consider myself "anti-social" in any way; I just grow weary of perpetual human interaction day in and day out. Every now and then, I just have to escape from it all. Is it wrong that I glean incredible pleasure from this feeling of utter aloneness?

Thus, I hunt. On this particular morning I'm in pursuit of the elusive wild turkey. I say, "in pursuit" because technically that's what I'm here for. After all, I did buy the required licenses and drove to the camp built specifically to house me and the family while on these little hunting trips. And I am wearing camouflage head to toe and have all the necessary gear and gadgets with which to up my chances of drawing a turkey to within gun range. But for me, that's simply the price I pay for moments like these. If I take home a bird, good. It is quite an accomplishment to harvest a wild turkey - to overcome their incredible senses, to speak their language as you coax them in, to know their habits and life cycle well enough to put yourself in the proper position to pull it all together. And no doubt that as I savor every bite, I'll be very thankful for the opportunity to have had the experience of pursuing the bird and for his sacrifice which then nourishes me.

But if I don't harvest a bird, which, considering the odds is more likely, I'll still appreciate the time I spent in pursuit of him.

Such as moments like these.

I enjoy turkey hunting more than any other hunting that I do. Not so much because of the quarry, but because of the experience. It's mid-April so the cacophony of insects and tree frogs and other animals of the night that are most commonly associated with the later summer months are still absent from pre-dawn morning hours. Summertime travel among people is still a month or two away so the roads are still relatively void of traffic at this hour. But the temperature has risen enough in the last week or so to make it comfortable to be out at what is most usually the coldest part of the day. In fact, this day is unseasonably warm and I'm quite comfortable in just a pullover.

It is said that inspiration comes in many forms and I suppose the posts on this obscure blog reflect that. But for me, there is no better inspiration than moments like these. In this moment, I could discuss philosophy at length with Socrates, write with the likes of Thoreau, and pen verses with the likes of...well, I guess I can't think of any famous poets. If I could make this moment last, I could wear out an ink pen and fill volumes of notebooks with inspired word. But unfortunately, this moment is just that: a moment.

By the time my heart reaches its relaxed pace and I'm completely immersed in the serenity of my setting, I notice the fading of the stars accelerate. Soon, the Milky Way disappears and shortly thereafter, only the brightest stars hang on, refusing to let the curtain of dawn drop without one more bow to their audience. The silence is broken by an awakening cardinal nearby proudly proclaiming his prominent role in Act II which is all about to unfold on the terrestrial stage around me. His not-so-serene announcement that the show is about to begin awakens a plethora of other babbling creatures. I close my eyes briefly in an attempt to solidify the now-dissipated moment in my permanent memory. I then turn my attention to the next stage to watch, hear, and feel the awakening of the earth and the dawning of a new day. And contrary to normal, I welcome it with open arms.