The old man sang softly to himself
As he walked out onto his porch
In the late afternoon
All the noises of his family
Muted as the door swung shut
And still he sang softly to himself
All the grandkids watching YouTube on their phones make him flash back
At that age he was taught to hunt
And he marked his victory
In red ochre on the cliffs above the lake
As his mind wandered down that path
His feet followed
As he walked
He sang old melodies
That shook old memories from the trees
And they fell around him like old leaves
But as he approached the lake
He was stopped at a barricade
In front of loud men and their machines
He could see a crowd at the gate
Holding signs, public debate
With that distraction, he was never seen
He was a young hunter again
As he snuck past the men
Through the heart of the camp to the cliff face
He saw that it was gone
The red paintings on the rock
The whole of the cliff, flattened and replaced
By the growing outline of a pipeline
The oil men have come again
They brought their dying industry with them
He knew this must not stand
He must defend the land
The old wolf hunts again
Sly like a fox, clever as the crow
He could be a hero
The old wolf hunts again