A valley that used to be the old stream bed of the Cimarron River, dotted with cedar trees, plum thickets and cottonwoods, I hunted the Sandhills overlooking the those bottoms as a kid. Like ghosts or air passing thru screen, deer traverse the landscape with movement less labored than man. I have watched many sunrises and observed motion after, before and during the sun’s decent beneath the western horizon. The same sun I watched rise as a kid rose again and shortly after this buck appeared between cedar, I observed his age by body size and form and decided he had experienced his last sun rise. I took his body home but left the spirit out there in the valley. Typical mature NW Oklahoma buck.
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