The crackle and pop of the gravel, underneath the tires, was
amplified by the dense silence. It was
an hour before dawn and we were traveling to our favorite hunting spots on the
family farm. It was not only silent but eerily
dark. Darker than usual because clouds
covered the legions of stars that normally blanketed the country sky.
We navigated only by our headlights which seemed to be cut
short by the darkness. Suddenly the gravel
appeared to take on shape as the lights revealed a huge Whitetail buck standing
in the middle of the road. It barely
glanced at us as we slowed to a stop. It
was the rutting season and he only had one thing on his mind. We could see her at the edge of the light in
the field next to the road
Before we knew what was happening, a second buck appeared
out of the blackness. The first one
swung around and the battle began. We
turned off the engine and lowered the windows listening to the sounds of the
antlers as they cracked together and the grunts and groans of the combatants. It
was thrilling and mesmerizing. Wild life
realized far beyond the two dimensional scenes of a nature documentary.
As quickly as it began it was over and the second buck
retreated into the darkness. The victor wasted no time claiming his spoils. She
had waited patiently for him and like the end of an old movie, the scene faded
to black as we continued down the road giving them some privacy. Driving away, I realized that from the moment
the battle began we had hardly spoken a word.
We were silent observers capturing time, not with a photograph or a
video but with a shared memory that was ours alone.
