Timing of the Hunt

Dark forms moved ahead of me through the Aspens, silent, keeping low, and traveling fast…there were five of them.  From their movement it could only be one thing…wild turkeys.  In seconds they vanished like early morning shadows gone until another day.  With the passing of another moon I would have followed them, but timing is everything and this day it was wrong, so I moved on.   As I eased further through the dark timber on a bed of pine needles hushed by last evening’s rain, more movement caught my eye.  The familiar bouncing gait of a mule deer gave away his hiding place and his identity.  His antlers, dressed in velvet, were enviable, but again…the timing was wrong.  Elk and small game were the only licenses I held, so I would have to keep searching.  Another hundred yards, then two, then twenty…and suddenly the thunderous frantic rush of rising grouse startled all that could hear.  As frightening as it always is…it is also a very welcome sound.  One lit in the top of a nearby spruce and lingered just a moment too long.  My aim was right and my arrow’s flight was true.  His timing...was wrong.  I will enjoy him in the pot tonight. 
My search for elk…continues.