The smell of burnt powder
The thunder ringing in his ears
The mark told the story
Of his unswerving preparation
The smell of oil on steel
The deep blue, blue gloss
The glass, crystal clear
The tool kept at the ready
The smell of acrid sweat
The pounding of his boots
The shirt stuck to his back
His senses keen for the fall
The smell of early coffee
The stars still in the sky
The snow crisp under his boot
The game aboout to begin
The smell of frozen freshness
The muted hoof on winter ground
The thundering crash against his shoulder
The smell of burnt powder.