Tote Road Walking solo on an old tote
road I
glimpse a snorting buck as he leads his
startled fleet-footed ladies towards a sheltered cover above Long Lake. How
true, I think, as they run through the brush, that verse from the Papago “Song Of The Hunter” . . . . .
. . The white tail, climbing Seems like a streak on the rocks. The black tail, striding, Seems like a crack in the rocks. [Published in Prairie Falcon. © 1989 by Jim
Cohn.]
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