In the early morning mist- a fond memory

Its dark,and cold.The smell of coffee ,and last nights meal linger as the light of the fridge glows through the cheap venetian blinds.Sounds of others stirring getting there gear together starts the excitement.The moon still hangs over the earth but is starting to slowly lower back below the tree- line. The light from the kitchen table reflects off old family pictures ,of hunt weekends of the past. Long forgotten jokes,stories,and memories. The front screen door creaks behind  us as we quietly step  down the front stoop. The grass is white with dew almost as if a light snow had fallen,and a heavy mist has rolled in . The creek gurgles along as we cross to the other bank. Slowly the woods come to life with the slow but sure calls of song birds bob-white quail ,and crows. Then a loud cackle cuts through the air like a knife. My blood runs cold.My father gets out his call ,and responds to the turkey with  a quiet yet alluring sound. Immediately 3 birds call back.The hunt has begun. We quickly get set up on the edge of a clearing.My heart begins to race ,and my breathing increases. A large Jake begins his walk down through the woods to search for his prized hen. My fathers whispers to me reassuringly that he is going to be a great kill ,and to keep your gun still,and be patient. I try to keep still but the thrill of the hunt has gripped me ,and will not let go. He slowly comes into a closer view. I raise my gun,slowly ,and take off the safety.Times slows down my heart beat just barely audible.The sound of the gun was drowned out by the adrenaline that had me shaking like a leaf. The bird falls.Suddenly a huge rush comes over me ,and I let out a long satisfied sigh. My aim was true,and I could relax ,and take the bird back to camp to show off to the rest of the group. I had fulfilled a tradition that had been passed down through generations of fathers ,and sons.