My fair nurse --

To see stunning yellows and whites of popples and birches while the woodcock lays low --

With mouth agape, the mottled dogwoods along Appalachia's spring ridges weave in and out of sight, as the gobbler bellows --

An ivory peak glowing among the Rockies' reds as the pack horse nimbly steps us down from our mountain elk conquest --

The stiff fall breeze numbing our faces as we stand on wait inside a bronze wall of corn stalks and silks to catch the whitetail buck napping --

And to this you say, "I'm not into hunting"?