crouches behind the camouflage,
watching - waiting - quiet - still,
just one of many,
all eyes on the horizon,
hearts pounding - expectant - eager -
there appears the thin line of dust,
then distant thunder,
growing louder and louder,
until the ground trembles
with the pounding of a million hooves.
hunters are visible now,
and the bison are panicked,
but it's too late.
but are squeezed from both sides,
a narrow funnel forming up ahead.
They quicken their pace,
and then see the cliff.
dig into the hard earth,
eyes roll in fear,
There's no stopping now.
Those in front are pushed by the weight
of the mass behind,
and flung over the edge.
screams fill the air,
below, only the dull sound of soft bodies,
thud - thud - thud.
Time, suspended, frozen,
finally merges with eternity.
hunters look on in haunted silence,
The spirits of the bison have been released.
They have sacrificed for the people,
and the people are grateful.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul