The Dawn Of A New Day

The first day of the year, the new day, it was beginning of the new...A new leaf. And then it was the ending. The first day was the last day. The last chance on the first, the last chance for the hounds to race the bruin, the last of Bear Season. The sky was clear, dark and calm. Squeaky, the Plott Bear Dog, lead to the truck, hopped up and into the box without hesitation. He seemed to know it was the last day, yet seemed as energetic as the first. Hounds loyal only to the hunt. Man and dog alike felt good and hopeful as it was the dawn of a new day, full of change, full of possibilities. Good songs were on the radio, the morning itself radiated a something in itself...Confidence could be soaked through the rays of sunlight shining over the ridges. In the gaps up on the high lonesome, high above the sleepy valleys, high above the suicide kings and drama queens and the unhappiness they feel intrinsic to their lives, the first winds were felt. The wind blew changes in itself. North winds blowing in bitter cold, blowing away the scents. We, the confident die hards, stood huddled around our trucks exchanging possibilities in places and strategies for the last race. The sun grew higher, the wind grew colder, the tracks older. We ran the hounds, ut not getting the race either of us wanted. With the ground freezing under our feet and the winds of change stinging our cheeks we knew it had ended. Yet, we had begun the year right in the dawn of a new day.

Let the Hill Billy Rave Begin!
The Appalachianist