Hunters

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Early one winter morning, some years ago, just before daylight, a Big Foot loped across a gravel road in front of a four-wheel-drive vehicle full of Memphis duck hunters, out near the levee, a little South of the fossil town of Austin, in the Mississippi Delta,

            Best of all, this Big Foot was not invisible.  He had a shape.  This Big Foot was the monster, not them, the Deltans, and frankly that was a great relief.  Even better, this Big Foot could be shot, stuffed, and stood up by the T.V. in the den! – alongside the wild turkey, a bobcat, a coyote, some wood ducks, the head and spikey antlers of an eight-point buck . . .  and the terrifying barracuda from Biloxi.

            Deltans are editors of the visible.  God said: “Let there be light!”  But we tell him where to shine it.  So, when word went out one day from the Boll & Bloom Café that a Big Foot had been sighted, all the usual Delta fears disappeared, their importance collapsed.  Curiosity became king. Obsession reigned, and . . . the “Hunters” arose. Well, two of them did.