Wooden Reassurance

A swift breeze collects in the

Valley, whistling through the

String of the Archers bow.

Green grass gives way under the Archer's dark brown boot

With a soft crunch, as she steps on the mark

The crowds animated chatter drifts past her ears,

Carried with the wind.

She turns to the Arrow Marker

Eyes closed in concentration,

The crowd disappears from view

Mentally, she blocks all sound but the soft,

Reassuring whisper of wind.

Quivering hand now calm as she lovingly caresses the

Cool, smooth wood of her bow.

A solemn weight has dropped upon

Them like a suffocating fog.

She is the last archer to compete in the competition,

All wait with a choked breath.

Sweat glistens her brow

In a split second, she lifts her bow into

Position, her body 90 degrees to the target

Taking a moment, she stares

At her goal, a petite sign 120 ft away.

Thoughts collected,

An arrow is fitted to her bow

A blur to all eyes

Her speed unmatchable

''Twang!''

The arrow hits dead center with a

Resounding 'Thunk.''

The audiences' screams of applause

Crescendos' to a colossal roar

The archer's face is still,

A mysterious shine

In her eyes