A Letter of Hunters

This love letter goes out to that special someone, a letter we wrote together beneath the stars and the full moon of the fall harvest, a letter of first experiences to which many more will come. It was the night of the first North wind, a night the North woke up as we sat and discussed the upcoming hunt. Our surroundings were simple and thoughtless, easy to get lost together and we did. A night that was cold as we slept together unprepared but safe in each other’s arms, protecting one another from the elements, using the warmth of our bodies when all I needed was the warmth of her heart, a love I prayed for all my life, a love that would teach me lessons about compassion, a love that would keep me grounded, a love I took for granted. 

As we woke to find the moose that was inviting us to experience the difficulties of practicing traditional sustenance I watched her get ready, eyes half open, body shivering, but excited and anxious to walk the land with her partner, a partner she also prayed for, a prayer that was answered, she was exactly where she was supposed to be. As we walked I followed her closely, making note of her tiny steps and tiny body, so little for a person with a heart so big walking amongst the giants of their land and spirits of our past, a commanding lead of natural confidence, a true bush girl with her bush man. 

The excitement on her face when the moose started talking to her brought good feelings as we both realized that we could share a life long passion of chasing those moments, seeking that high and trying to surpass them to which we will. Although the moose we hunted decided he would not provide us the many meals we wanted that day, he knowingly provided us with a bridge that would help build a relationship between two broken spirits and form a bond stronger than any other because of its origin, a relationship garnering strength from the natural wonders and powers of the land.

The letter was put away that day but to be continued and elaborated on with stories that will be told by our children, who will also be great hunters and story-tellers of the land, stories they will find in our letter. They will speak of the night their dad held their mom in his arms as they slept beneath what felt like a blanket of frost, no escape from the cold except in each other’s arms. They will say my mom loved my dad with what should have been a lot of wasted tears, but they weren’t, they were tears that my dad could not escape, tears he could feel when he looked up at the sky on those cold Autumn days. Days he would miss his partner if she was not there.

The letter is a letter of the land and to be continued for generations…

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