It’s a cold, blustery, day

In the distance, the neighbors are target shooting

The sound of each round echoes through the woods

It reminds me of something

The sound…it evokes a primal emotion within me, and it’s beautiful in its way

It’s the sound of safety…of preservation…of revolution

It is the sound of love blowing out the flame

All one ever deserved or has given comes back in the echo of that sound

I remember hunting with my dad in West Texas when I was little. He and I would ride on the tool box in the back of the truck, while my grandmother drove barely faster than a walking pace. I got to hold his rifle, as he scanned the desert for deer, his binoculars in one hand and a beer in the other.

That rifle was as long as I was tall and I felt very important because…