Lew Watts

The Embers

The wind is down and the air is still as I follow him into the mists of the forest. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t loved my first time hunting with him. I had, though I know I didn’t thank him, and for that I’m sorry. But the truth is, I always longed to go again, if only to get away, to feel safe once more. Today, I can smell vanilla wafting from the pines as I walk in his tracks. The lead dog picked up a scent awhile back, and is now locked on once again. I hear the click of his shotgun. Suddenly, the Springer to the right stops and pants before rushing into a thicket. Something brown and beautiful lifts into the air, then clucks and chuckles as the air turns red with flakes of down … and a shape falls with a sickly thud to the ground. All is quiet, save the sound of a dog tearing a bird’s last breath away. He walks forward and hands me what’s left of a pheasant. Asks if I’d like to keep it, or eat it here and now. There’s a clearing nearby, he says. So we make up a fire in the ash of a pit, rig up a spit, and lie down while the flames quietly burn off the feathers. Without warning, a bark, then another. Lots of things buried ‘round here. Just don’t tell anyone, he says. Let it be our little secret.

The wind is down and the air is still as I follow him into the mists of the forest. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t loved my first time hunting with him. I had, though I know I didn’t thank him, and for that I’m sorry. But the truth is, I always longed to go again, if only to get away, to feel safe once more. Today, I can smell vanilla wafting from the pines as I walk in his tracks. The lead dog picked up a scent awhile back, and is now locked on once again. I hear the click of his shotgun. Suddenly, the Springer to the right stops and pants before rushing into a thicket. Something brown and beautiful lifts into the air, then clucks and chuckles as the air turns red with flakes of down … and a shape falls with a sickly thud to the ground. All is quiet, save the sound of a dog tearing a bird’s last breath away. He walks forward and hands me what’s left of a pheasant. Asks if I’d like to keep it, or eat it here and now. There’s a clearing nearby, he says. So we make up a fire in the ash of a pit, rig up a spit, and lie down while the flames quietly burn off the feathers. Without warning, a bark, then another. Lots of things buried ‘round here. Just don’t tell anyone, he says. Let it be our little secret.

The wind is down and the air is still as I follow him into the mists of the forest. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t loved my first time hunting with him. I had, though I know I didn’t thank him, and for that I’m sorry. But the truth is, I always longed to go again, if only to get away, to feel safe once more. Today, I can smell vanilla wafting from the pines as I walk in his tracks. The lead dog picked up a scent awhile back, and is now locked on once again. I hear the click of his shotgun. Suddenly, the Springer to the right stops and pants before rushing into a thicket. Something brown and beautiful lifts into the air, then clucks and chuckles as the air turns red with flakes of down … and a shape falls with a sickly thud to the ground. All is quiet, save the sound of a dog tearing a bird’s last breath away. He walks forward and hands me what’s left of a pheasant. Asks if I’d like to keep it, or eat it here and now. There’s a clearing nearby, he says. So we make up a fire in the ash of a pit, rig up a spit, and lie down while the flames quietly burn off the feathers. Without warning, a bark, then another. Lots of things buried ‘round here. Just don’t tell anyone, he says. Let it be our little secret.

---

Note: The final haiku is composed of homographs, words with the same spelling and sound but different meanings.

---

About the Author

Lew Watts is haibun co-editor of Frogpond and author of two Snapshot Press books, Tick-Tock (2019) and Eira (2023), the latter of which won a 2024 Touchstone Award and Best Book of Haibun in the HSA Merit Book Awards. He is also the co-author, with Roberta Beary and Rich Youmans, of Haibun: A Writer’s Guide (Ad Hoc Fiction, 2023).

---