Arrow

A few months ago, my husband decided to get into bow hunting.

For the first few weeks, he spent time researching what he wanted, then every day after work, he would go to the different sporting goods stores, testing each bow for comfort, then further marrowing his options by the features he wanted and his budget. Eventually he found the one he wanted.

He had called me on the way home to tell me about it. In truth, I only half listened, which was probably alright because I think, like most times when he calls me in his drive, it was more important for me to hear how excited he was over the newer treasure rather than to remember all the specs of his latest projectile launcher, and I just liked hearing him talk when he was happy. It was second only to his laughter.

That night, I would turn supper down on the stove to keep it warm, as he went straight to the archery range. Hours later, after he'd returned and all our clothes lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, he'd keep mentally trying to calculate the proper draw length he needed. I would eventually turn the light on to search for my fabric tape measure, just to check his wingspan so we could calculate it and go to sleep.

After a few weeks, he had all the adjustments he needed, and he would frequently go to the range or out to our friend the Saint's property to practice. However it went determined his mood for the remaining evening and morning, and he kept telling me he dreamed of getting his buck. I think he was counting down the days until he and his friends could leave for the cabin.

He rarely got discouraged for long, but there was one thing that would always bring down his mood, and that was losing arrows.

I hadn't done much of anything archery related since I was in middle school, but it a way, I felt like I understood. There were countless targets I had set my sights on over the years, and I often thought about all the "lost arrows" or opportunities I had missed over the years, and all the targets I'd aimed for that had become seemingly impossible. Much like his arrows, however, some of those same opportunities would resurface at the most peculiar times, generally well after I had forgotten all about them.

Lost arrows have a way of turning up again eventually.