thwop
4K posts
@thwopped
current mood: airdrop farmooor engineer by day, collector by night | team @noCanvasXYZ
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When I was a boy, Father would take my 2 brothers and I hunting in the Tuscan countryside. We’d rise at dawn, cool mist still clinging to vine-covered hills, armed with crossbows and the quiet anticipation of the hunt. Our target was often the roe deer, a creature as elusive as it was graceful. Those days were filled with lessons: the track of a hoof in the mud, the hush of a wind through the trees, the sharp snap of a twig underfoot. But the greatest lessons came from watching Father, who treated the forest and its creatures with a reverent respect. One crisp morning, that I did not know would be our last time, my brother Damiano took the lead. His shot was true, and we celebrated his triumph with shouts that echoed off the hills. We didn’t know then that it would be our final joyous moment together, as mere weeks later, Damiano succumbed to a sudden fever. Now, walking alone where we once laughed and whispered, the woods seem to hold both the presence of my brothers, and the shadows of our past selves. It is here, among the whispering pines and ghostly echoes, that I feel closest to Damiano, where the bond of brotherhood, although frayed by loss, remains woven into the tapestry of the landscape. Hunting was never the same after Damiano’s passing, but the land remembers, and so do I. Share one a memory of one of your ‘last times’
