coming fall

by underswansea


Don’t ask me to believe something I can’t see. He said it often and it hurt her. Bishop was adamant. She asked for love and god. He couldn’t commit to either. The world without them was fine. In his mind they caused more trouble than not. The creeks were down and would be that way next year at this time. It was the last of August. Deer season was coming. Bishop watched the weather. Was it cooler? He hoped for rain. If it snowed in the mountains, he’d hike as far as it took to follow tracks. He thought she wanted him to follow her. He wasn’t much for taking direction. The road up Cedar was closed. He would have to hike from the washed out bridge. It was fitting, not a problem or hassle. It made the distance greater. That was a more than a few hunting seasons ago when she told him to leave and not come back. He’d loved her more than she thought, but she was right, he held back. He couldn’t believe. The light blinded him through the trees. He held it steady, took a swig of the tin. His 30 30 was resting beside his leg along with the hound. It was the day before the season. Bishop thought about her often. How good she could make him feel. He never could believe. The sky hunkered down. It was rain all around and only time before it hit him. A five-point buck caught the lights. He reached for his rifle. The dog barked. Bishop felt his soul fly. He remembered the day he couldn’t see. It was back in the bush only because he let it.