Luke

An empty echo

Follows a bullet trace

And life exists, but with a peering blue eye.

Sound heard slower than life.

These grass stalks will be here 

Whether we're here or not.

And there stands an old man,

So smiling with thumb up.

Another whip, an echo,

Made from a bullet, sent from uphill, downhill.

"High left!!!" Thumb down. 

Standing there over the target.

Black sticker placed on a hole....

"OK Go!"

Another whip, then a boom.

A smile. A thumb up, Amidst the stalks, his stalks.

Commotion ensued up the hill with buggies and trucks, all coming down.

Binoculars just weren't enough.

A hole on orange.  Dust and grass in the air with gratified validation.

Beers drunk, overwhelming the pending matter of the morning hunt,

And all excuses removed.