FOG

"The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits on its haunches, and then moves on." (Carl Sandburg)

Today silently eased into being with a cool blanket of moisture laden air gently enveloping the Tin Star Ranch.

As the dawn mused its wakening call, swirls of ghostly miasma hauntingly entwined arms with branches of the equally silent, but forgiving oaks.

There was no sound and no measurable movement of air, yet the eeriness of the moment was complemented by the beauty unfolding.

Inevitably, there are so many things associated with deer hunting which have no relationship to harvesting game.

Such was the ranch hand's pleasure today while sojourning in the ubiquitous "hunting blind".