He poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the chair and table set on his porch. Getting up he grabbed his computer bag from the living room, and returned to the porch. He took his computer out and began editing pictures he had taken.

The air was cool, fresh, and damp. It was spring air, his favorite kind. The birds were in full bloom that day and the trees sang as the wind rustled inbetween their branches. The porch was a deep mahogany with a screen and screen-door.

And as he looked through his pictures, a grim expression overtook his countenance as he saw—hidden beyond the legs of a deer he captured—a head sticking out from a bush.

(SpOoooKy)