Confessions of a Hunter’s Child

Papa,I saw the wild rabbitand I saw the doebutI didn’t shootRight now the forest I seeis the bluest ocean of fog billowsDusk mysteriously lengthens midnight’s storyacross the highest point of the treetopsA purple creek isflowing from the cricket’s mouthforetelling midsummer’s cool shadeThat gentle forest meadowis my older sister’s handkerchiefand my younger sister’s clothesThe wild rabbit passes by, its eyes fullof silent moonlight, tiny stars prepareto hide sweetlyThat’s why the most beautiful bird weaves a net in the skyThe green-clothed frog is singing the greenest songsWhen the doe appears, like an empressher whole body is draped in a gold waterfall

Above, an infinite number of liquid suns riseand it is for them that the trees glimmerswaying in harmonious dancesA carpet of three-leaf clovers flutters carefreeNow I forget the worldand forget that I’m a hunterwho didn’t shoot the wild rabbit or doe

Papa,if you really want me to shoot,the only way I ever willis if one day I encounter a wolfThen I’ll aimto strike its peach-shaped heartBut todayI’m not willing to shootWould you destroy the fairy taleAndersen conceived for me?Papa,I  cannot  shoot!