Where Adirondack shadows stretch and yawn,
The aged hunter picks his careful way
Past Sarvey Hill where morning mists still lay.
Panther Mountain looms against the sky,
While tracks in snow catch his practiced eye,
Through Dry Timber Swamp where silence reigns,
Each step a memory his heart retains.
Past Camp You and I, where years ago
Other hunters tracked through early snow,
His rifle steady, breath a cloud of white,
As winter’s chill greets morning’s first light.
Behind Dry Timber Lake, the knob
Stands sentinel, while his heart’s quiet throb
Keeps time with wind through hemlock trees,
Where generations sought their peace.
The stand creaks soft beneath his frame,
These woods now know his face, his name,
Each trail and hollow, ridge and dell,
Hold stories that old hunters tell.
Through countless seasons he has traced
These ancient paths, each step well-placed,
From Sarvey’s slopes to Panther’s height,
Where wild things make their morning flight.
The sun climbs high o’er mountain pine,
While memories of past hunts combine
With present moment’s sacred space,
In this beloved mountain place.
Here where the Adirondacks rise,
Beneath their vast and timeless skies,
The old hunter finds his truth again,
Among these peaks that know no end.
By Briggs Switch where his journey starts,
Where mountain wisdom fills his heart,
Each hunt becomes a prayer once more,
On trails his father walked before.
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