They fly from me.

Like pieces of my heart and soul. I take aim to reclaim what was mine.

Every dead bird in my hand is a reminder of who I once was and a pledge of who I’ll be.

Yet, as the warmth fades – I realize too that a piece of me also dies and I lose myself again.

With every bird I pursue, there is a promise – I look to the next. My Noble Quail! This is our never-ending dance. I chase. They flush. I win. They flutter. I lose. I regain. I lose what was mine. And I pursue again. 

I pursue my quarry.

I pursue my quarry.

I am the quarry. Noble Quail deep inside of me.

– J.R.

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