Among Elk

Written by A. Kathy Moss

Up before dawn, a feeling has drawn

You into the mountain and trees.

Till the silence within, upon the whispering wind

A chime of bugles tease the breeze.

That majestic call, that is heard each fall

Since before our forefathers birth

And for those who take time, through rim rocks and pine

Listen and value their worth.

Each note high and low as each bugle ballad goes,

No two ever the same

They are all unique and if a chance to critique

Upon our hearts they claim.

We are put into state and can hardly wait

For the dawn of the upcoming morn

To glimpse hoof print in stride or a patch of hide

Or a tip of antler horn.

Just out of reach, lessons he’ll teach to those who play the game,

The tension and pull of a phantom bull, a soul never to tame.

While waiting and yearning, eyes straining, ears burning,

Ringing till you can’t hear a thing,

To early to late, can’t hardly wait,

Patience like a bee sting.

Like a ghost in the night they filter through site

They tease and bugle and brag,

As tell tale sign, weave and wind

Through timber, rocks and crags

Where a sapling tree, used to be

Now a twig broke scarred and torn

Velvet left there and shed of hair

To tell the rut has been born.

Strong elk scent, down wind is sent

From their bedded layer

They are up once again and start to transcend

Letting us know they were there.

A little to late can change a state

Hopes almost fell,

But all rise again when a bugle begins

For among elk, we dwell.