First it was the noise. Then the fall.
He strongly pulled his fur cap over his ears
and suddenly everything petrified. The leaves,
the wet grass, the thread of clear water, the ants
that had climbed up to his knees and he,
in the middle of the forest, tall, leaning his rifle
on the dirty boots of his father.

Not a thought, not a start. Some
hovering birds. The staring eyes
of his father, two lenses in which
every detail was reflected inside out.