Mother/Earth

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The dry snow of the high Cascades slanted down softly, tiny dry flakes with miniscule ice crystals sprinkled within. They clung to the trees and the sage, millions piling up to soften the harsh dusty outlines of the high desert forest.

Any deer that I might see would appear as a ghostly gray image, as if far off and insubstantial, impossible for a mere mortal hunter to kill.

The sound was almost silent, a distant hushing interrupted by muffled crackles or thumps. An alone sound.

The air was so cold going into my body that my nose and lips burned, my lungs were clearly outlined within my body by the frigid sensation of icy air deep within. I snuggled my nose and mouth into the fleece at my neck. The fleece felt like a baby blanket to me, as soft and comforting as those I had tightened around my babies.

Just then, a tiny snowflake skittered over the surface of my cheek as it floated earthward. It was dry and fluttery, reminding me of a baby's eyelashes closing near my skin.

How profoundly the journey of motherhood has altered my perceptions of every aspect of life. I feel closer to the changes, the seasons, the tiny appreciations of the Earth. She and I brought forth life, nurtured and grew it, and now continue to support and nourish it with food and water and rest time and encouragement.

I do not find it incongruous or inappropriate that I am touching motherhood in my thoughts while engaged in predatory hunting. Like the wolf, the lioness, the bird, the bobcat, like mothers the world over in all biological strata, I harvest the food that will feed my family. I feel good that it is natural, lean, free of additives. I feel gratified for seeking and bringing it home. It is part of motherhood and of a nearly forgotten circle of food and life.