Blog Twelve.

my father shoots at wolves through the screens on the windows of a cabin, in late june when snow still hides in the shadows of the backcountry though its been gone from the valley for months. and my dad hands me the gun and i shoot at them too, as the wind rises up to howl in harmony with the wolves and the gun jams, and i can/t shoot them as they fade sinister into darknesses of the woods. they will be back tomorrow night and i can/t stand watching over my shoulder nomore.