It’s heavy, this Weatherby bolt action 7mm Mag,

and the sling digs into my collar bone on cold days walking

the woods, ducking beneath pines, stepping over deadfall.

My friends call it a relic, me brassbound—so many

upgrades have been made available in gear in the years since

it was minted. Composite stocks and carbon fiber barrels

come light, innovative calibers precise.

But this honeyed wood and blued steel speak

to my heart and other important matters. Legacy,

for one. Joining a family, too, the day they said,

“Granddad would have wanted it to go to you.” It looks

right on the gun rack next to her .270, which he likewise left to her,

and the .30-06 that belonged to her mother before.

Somethings change, have to if they’re to go on—evolutions,

a frontline scope, a silicone harness—but I’ll carry it as long as I am

strong enough, will pull the trigger—I savvy the subtle slack—

will make the killshot necessary to bring home sustenance

I know was taken with care. In doing so, I’ll fill also

myself with hours moving quiet, hoping to scent

the musk of elk, to hear the crack of branch.

This rifle, I’ll lay it down then, press

my palm against yet warm hide and give

my thanks. Then I’ll shoulder it again, heft my pack

laden with quartered meat, and walk on.

It’s good, I think, to carry such weight, to feel it in the sinew of our backs,

the long bones of our legs, the soles of our feet, until each step

becomes a meditation on the circle of the world, and our place in it.

~For Rob on his 40^th Birthday, August 5^th, 2024

*I would also like to apologize for sending my last post about Joe Wilkin’s new novel, The Entire Sky, out twice. I changed my regular publishing schedule to get the review out before his book launched, and it caused a glitch with my newsletter platform. I now am aware of the issue and hope to avoid the same mistake in the future. Please know I appreciate you signing up for my newsletter very much and want to avoid inundating your inbox.