Contemplating Now Where You Have Been Before

I hunt a ridge  where "long ago,
once upon a time" is nearly
a reality; now, only occasionally
I hunt there.
The deer have left.
Where sign was abundant
and deer a gift given by the woods
to those with eyes and ears and patience
only memory now is.
I don't know if a deer presented
itself if I'd let it go in hope
or take the shot
as if fresh blood seeping into the ground
would, in that curious, old alchemy
change death into life.
What remains is the way light
and shadows move,
the wind touching  the trees
and leaves and me.

— Byron Hoot