The Hunter

Light of the full moon across rolling meadows caused acres of icy jewels to serenade my eyes as I swiftly walked from the forest shadows toward my target, a set of three persimmon trees growing along an old barbwire fence line. The day had been warm for late October, but with lowing sun had come a chill which quickly condensed air into dew and by a few hours after nightfall, the dew transformed into a layer of shivering frost across the world of farmland and low hills I called home. As the hour approached midnight, I shoved my hands deeper in my coat pockets as meadow grasses crunched beneath my boots; I made a beeline for the tallest fruit tree. I carried no weapon save a small folding knife in my pants pocket and an old tater sack tucked beneath my heavy coat; I intended to take my quarry live.
My quest began that same afternoon when my grandmother stated that she would like to have a possum for supper and not for one moment in my mind’s eye did I see her and a guest critter sitting at the eating table enjoying a meal of beans and taters. Nope, I knew that the guest critter would be sizzling in the frying pan before he ever saw granny’s checkered table cloth. Granny was the only person I have ever known who admitted a liking for possum. Not that possums aren’t good to eat; they are just plain too ugly to want to eat. They are nocturnal marsupials having a layer of short fur and wiry bristles like a hog wears and for some reason they look half naked all the time. In fact, their tails are mostly hairless and are prehensile; they can wrap it around a limb and swing in the breeze like an autumn leaf. Possums are endowed with a permanent grin; their mouths curve slightly upward at the back and a row of needle-sharp teeth are always showing on each side. Fortunately, the critters are not very aggressive and the grin is mostly a ruse just like their ability to “play dead” when they feel threatened. Possums also make various sounds, mostly hissing, growling, snorting, and grunting when they are agitated and, on my midnight quest, I expected to hear plenty of everything they could say. I was going possum huntin’ for granny’s supper.
~this partial tarradiddle is to be continued …
Jeremy has a great post on his blog today; please give it a read if you have time.
Have a thoughtful Thursday, dear children

Published in: on September 15, 2011 at 9:53 am  Comments (6)  
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6 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. It’s a nice story about possums. There are not such animals in my country. I think they like rather mild climate.
    I’ve read Jeremy’s blog. This is a deep bond between you and your grandson, my friend. Jeremy’s poem is beautiful.

    • Possums are the only marsupial we have in North America.
      Jeremy is a good young man; he grew up around my mom and she was a good influence for him. He looks to be natural poet and song writer.
      Thanks, Jola.
      BTW, I like your new avatar. πŸ™‚

      • I guessed that Jeremy loved Dot very much. It’s beautiful. As for my avatar, I still try to find really good photo. Hope you like me walking among the high grasses in Biebrza National Park. πŸ™‚

      • You look like you are in your natural place in the park photo. What does “Biebrza” mean. The word doesn’t come easily from my hillbilly tongue.
        Thanks, Jola. πŸ™‚

  2. You are a wonderful writer. Jeremy is no slouch either. I sooo loved his story today. It was perfect and gives me chills up my spine. I understand this, the metamorphisis, the reincarnation, the beauty of the newly hatched creature.. It fills me with love. So happy to find that he adores you and has a writing style so like yours.

    • The story is part of a first draft I am working on. I may tell y’all if I caught granny’s supper.
      It is a wonderful poem Jeremy wrote; he knows a lot of words and knows how to put them together.
      Thanks Tammy for visiting both blogs, your kind praise for Jeremy, and your generous words for my writing attempts.

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