What we hunt for is what we desire most.
The
lords went hunting
early
on the wings of a falcon.
There
were the whinnies
of
the two chestnut horses,
then
the bays of the hounds.
The
hunting horn sounded.
The
sun went dark behind a cloud.
They
plunged into the wood.
Following
the old trail,
the
two hares disappeared
and
the dogs circled disappointed;
but
later, as they approached the pond,
there
was the view beneath them,
and
they avidly became hunters
of
both memories and laughter,
of
the best of times and the worst of times.
Emily Isaacson