I set out in the early morning,
knife in hand, ready for the hunt.
Walking quietly, respectfully
I head east towards the rising sun.
My prey (or is it pray?) is beauty.
I am a color hunter,
in search of sights and scents.
Stalking the stalks, I eye the sunflowers.
Magnificent in their repose,
beaming brightly, happily.
Are there but a few willing to grace our table?
I hunt not for the biggest or the brightest,
but for the little ones that would otherwise be lost.
I leave the largest heads for the birds,
seeking instead size and color
and some unspoken willingness to come inside.
I walk back to the house
with color and abundance cradled in my arms.