Brunswick Stew

He went hunting with his father in the fall.
The days warmed with clear, fine threads of sun
that wove blankets of heat
 into the landscape and slowly unraveled
 in the soil at night.

In early morning they carried their guns
sleek and oiled bodies
on their sleep heavy shoulders
until the leather of their boots became soft
from rubbing heels.

The first day they always fished
hungry mouths that eagerly attached
to their hooks.
Holding firm the muscular form
 to their wet palms.