Old Deer Hunters

By gunwriter Their hands are as rough as a fresh scrape and they’ve held babies and shaken men. Drag rope tired eyes have witnessed joy and loved ones crying in the hall. The lines on their face are creek bed deep, their hair as grey as a sun bleached Confederate tunic and their ears too big for their head. (Your ears never stop growing by the way.) Every deer camp has an old deer hunter, or should. A month away from having walked this dirt for half a century, I’m still in the segment of the population who can talk about old …read more

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