Chap Stick.
Nothing was awake. The air was crisp like a winter night, the birds weren’t chirping, the fog was near the water, and when we got on the four-wheeler our breath was crystal smoke. It was a good morning. Until, I was putting on my chap stick on and it fell out of my finger tips from a bump on the road. It was no longer chap stick. My husband offered over-and-over to go back and get it. I was so in tune to just get a buck. We hiked 3 miles in a basin where the skies were blue as a young boy’s room wall. It was like touching the clouds. My lungs felt heavy as we climbed further. We stopped to glass and there were 5 bucks chowing down on their usual. I had no fear of heights then. I stepped each foot grasping the mountain grass. Hoping I would get a shot at a once in a lifetime first deer. We sat down near willows about 180 yards from them. My husband insisted we ate breakfast. With our backs to each other- one facing towards the bucks, another facing a different basin. I s...