I have been a hunter. Though the statement itself may be up for interpretation, at one time, with little or no provocation, hours and hours were spent searching for the elusive one thing or another. Up before dawn, dressed for the wilderness and equipped to identify, track, stealthily approach, capture, catch, shoot, or bludgeon some species that, for some reason, which now escapes me, had the misfortune of being the focus of the day.
Usually, as a group, we hearty lads would search, sight, and surround the fish, foul, or furious beast to discover it had vanished, only to reappear in another spot just out of range. Jumping from the water, standing on its hind legs, immerging from the underbrush, or roaring at the top of its lungs, majestically challenging the mighty Orion (the handsome hunter of Homer) to show what legend wrought. As reality forced the re-invention of history, camaraderie was the most oft-heralded prey.
Like Keats' “moving waters in their priest like task of pure ablution round earth’d human shores”, life brings us back again to a time in search of the restless and illusive common sense monster. There is talk of times when the common sense beast roamed this land with an arrogance and abandonment that had seldom been experienced.
From its cognitive lair, it moved into places that were considered undesirable habitats at one time. Many hunted and feasted on the bounty of the beast. They told the tail of common sense around the fire in shared camaraderie. But just as Orion, full of wine, assaulted the daughter of Atlas and was blinded by him, so these hunters, blinded by the re-invention of history, plowed onward toward the precipice. Alas, the beast, vigorous as it seemed, could not live on the sparse sustenance provided by the habitat into which it had been forced. As so many abandoned, it eventually vanished. Some say it was completely extinct, but others say that they have only retreated to its cognitive lair.
Only the hearty hunters remain with forearms bared, frantically seeking the wind direction for the scent of the common sense beast. Not wanting for supply, these lads and lasses of cunning and courage have arisen quite late to identify, track, capture, or catch the once bountiful creature. Again and again, they have stealthily approached only to see the prey disappear and then reappear in another spot just out of range. And as all that are sustained by the illusive quarry in our prayers do petition, wait, and watch for their return with trophies on their back and stories of their mouths with common sense in their midst.
