Sam called me up this morning and told me he wasn’t ready to share his story.
Just kidding. I wish I could blame my failures on fictional characters. What really happened? Deadlines. I looked over my week Tuesday night and knew I would be hard pressed to finish Sam’s story. I didn’t want to rush it, so I’ve decided to wait. My apologies.
As the title implies, I decided to shoot more wooden objects. You think I’d learned by now.
I was alone Monday evening. I’d slaved the day away (or so I thought) on school work and projects, and the sun was falling. The outdoors was calling my name. So, as any sensible human might, I decided to ignore my responsibilities, throw my quiver over my shoulder, and head into the yard.
Not the woods, mind you. You know what happened last time.
I decided not to use my foam target; it was dirty and gross, and as the selectively squeamish person I am, I didn’t want to touch it.
A wooden countertop laid on the bonfire, which sat in the middle of the yard. The countertop was decent sized and flat. It wasn’t alive. It would work as a target. I drew back my mighty bow and let the string slip through my fingers.
I didn’t miss, which was great. When I miss, my arrows generally dig into the grass and it sometimes takes an eternity to find them.
I hit the target, and it sounded something like this:
Ok, there was no whoosh. But as my arrow ricocheted off the countertop and sailed upward, there might as well have been one.
The arc was beautiful, like a jumping dolphin. Up and up it went…
Then down, right into the woods. Fantastic.
I wasn’t going to find it. For crying out loud, I’d lost at least five arrows in my yard. How was I going to find an arrow in the woods?
Despite my doubts, I had to look. I crept into the woods. When my quiver wasn’t snagging on nearby branches and twigs weren’t stabbing my feet (I was barefoot), the walk was quite nice. The night was warm, and the cold mud squeezed between my toes (that might not sound appealing to you, but I enjoyed it. Again, selectively squeamish). I felt like an epic huntress, stalking not-so-silently through a dark forest. It was a welcome relief to my self-imposed house imprisonment.
Believe it or not, I actually found my arrow (angels rejoice!) and returned to my archery.
Have I learned my lesson? Will wooden objects ever be safe from my arrows? We’ll have to see.
Have an epic weekend!
-Gabrielle Pollack (A.K.A. The Great Rising Puzzlement)