Sunday, September 8, 2019

Hunter's den

Like Paul Mccartney waking up with the tune to "Yesterday" in his head, I awoke in the middle of the night with this scene in my head:

A mighty old hunter is showing a visitor his hunting trophies. They are arranged on the dark wood walls of his study, looming over the men as they walk around. A giraffe head sticks out of a great plaque, a tiger, a moose, some sort of strange ibex, and also, oddly, the branch from a large tree. A big branch, mounted on hunter's display plaque.

"What's that one?" The visitor asks, pointing at the tree branch.

"Took that one down in '94." The old hunter says wistfully, reliving past glories. "Huge thing, a hundred feet tall if it was an inch. I shot him with an elephant gun and barely slowed him at all. Thought I was a goner."

"What happened?" The visitor asked, fascinated.

"Took out my axe." The hunter said sadly. "It wasn't pretty."

Oddly enough I felt no compulsion to jot this down, and I fell peacefully asleep as soon as I thought it.

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