The Sun's light grows weaker, the red leaves appear;
The smell of the smokehouse is in the still air;
And the question, again, as the Winter grows nigh
Is who will see Spring, who will starve, who will die?
The last crop from the gardens and fields comes in
The flocks and the herds are slaughtered and thinned
Firewood's stacked, and feed is laid by,
But the question remains, who will live, who will die?
Now the snow it lies deep and trees groan with the weight
The sun it sets early, and rises so late
Breath goes out like smoke, and it comes in like knives
And hunger and predators look to our lives.
So we meet on the green, though no green’s to be seen
And with spears and with bows we assemble in teams
Then farewell to our kin and it's off to the wood;
Pray the game will be fat and the hunting be good!
We move carefully, quietly, senses aware:
Behind trees, behind snowdrifts;who is that, what is there?
Is that predator? Prey? Is that wolf, man or deer?
Is it moving away, or does it draw near?
From a thicket a hart bursts, and races away;
Sound the horn! Send the signal! We've sighted the prey!
Call the hunters and bring them to circle the game
Then race through the snow, legs burning with strain.
Bursting through brush and fighting through drifts
No past and no future: life comes down to this:
Silence and stealth are things of the past;
It's who is the laggard, and who is the fast?
For if we are slow, and the prey gets away
We may not see food for many a day.
Hear the twang of a bow as an archer lets fly,
And the whip of the arrow is death going by.
The first shaft has missed, and the next hits a tree
But there's only one way that the outcome can be:
An arrow hits home and blood sprays in the air,
There's kicking and threshing and snow everywhere.
The prey is brought down! Run up with the spears!
‘Ware antlers and hooves, do not get too near.
See the moment the hart's head is turned to one side
So drive the spear home, feel it punch through the hide!
Feel the steel as it grates between ribs going in
Feel it twist in your vitals, and see the world dim.
Turn up to the hunter and smell your own death
See him looking down, then release your last breath.
Feel the life going out, see the eyes going dim;
And know in that moment what it is to be him:
Is it your hands or your blood on the spear
In this moment when life and death are so near?
Only divided by who died today
In this unending cycle of slayer and slain:
Bound by the bond of the death they have shared
We must all go the road that one today fared.
For the God of the Hunt holds the blade that will kill
But His antlers remind us He is Lord of Beasts still:
For we rise and we fall in the dance of the hunt
That will end when the days of the world, they are done.