The August Black Moon, happened to fall on my belly button birthday. I spent the first half of the evening hunting with my friend Brian, then walked the rest of the night alone. The sky felt hollow, the dark heavier than usual. A cool chill cut through—a reminder that summer was slipping away. Coyotes ran the edges, but the real hunt was inward.
Simple thoughts came: how at 51 years old, I ended up in this field, at this exact spot, at this exact time—dragging a coyote and staring up at the stars. In those moments, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I don’t always know why I do the things I do, but this is who I am.
Simple thoughts came: how at 51 years old, I ended up in this field, at this exact spot, at this exact time—dragging a coyote and staring up at the stars. In those moments, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I don’t always know why I do the things I do, but this is who I am.
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