Dark shadows circled my nest
on the ridgeline that
spooky winter night.
All I could see
was the moonglow
sifting through my misty breath,
glinting off my suppressor.
Icy winds whipped
up through the valley
to kiss my bearded face
& freeze my teardrops.
I thanked God for my pakol
and woolen fingerless gloves.
The fibers kept me warm
under the blanket of stars.
Not a cloud,
nor a single wisp
could I see against the pitch.
I had the itch to pop off a round
on a falling pebble.
But to do so,
might have meant certain death.
The area was crawling with bad guys,
insurgents looking for heads.