northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North
brown eyes dulled by pain met triumphant light blue.
wide enough to gently pull the damaged limb free.
The man raised his rifle. Looking down the barrel, he
beast remained heaving on the ice, eyes once again
With a shudder, the exhausted animal lowered its head. took two steps forward, finger on the trigger. It was
then that the man noticed the pink, healing stump of a front leg.
Lowering the rife, the man and inched cautiously
toward the animal. Wanting to calm the beaver, the
trapper draped the burlap sack over its head. Mindful
of his still tender, pink tipped fingers, the man pressed firmly on the trap’s release, straining until it opened
Carefully lifting the sack, the trapper backed away. The seeking those of the man’s.
Suddenly, with one last shudder and loud slap of a
broad tail on ice, the beaver slipped into the murky
water. The man took several heaving breaths and his
mind calmed as he studied the lodge. With a nod of his head, the trapper gathered the rifle and, putting the
trap into the bag, turned his back to retrace his steps to the cabin. He knew he would not return.
delicious mirage j alfred thomas
Where stand you, bitter landmark of beauty?
I thought I saw you while I stood in your palm
Now I only find you in glimpses, and am dazzled, as sunlight through birches
Your form taunts me, like the torn-off corner of a dream and perhaps I am lost in my search for you Yet I will seek you still in sighing grass, in dancing shadows, on starlit paths I wonder, can I catch you?
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