The morning sky, as dark and as still as the Mariana Trench, was beautiful. The stars let little pinholes of light through what would have been a completely black sheet that covered the sky. As I was looking up at the stars, I could faintly see the grey water vapor that I exhaled slowly with each breath. I wasn't the only one exhaling all of this water into the atmosphere that morning. There was a petite body of water in front of me that was slowly evaporating a small haze that covered the surrounding pasture. Tall, slender, brown blades littered the perimeter of this waterfowl retreat.

As the morning progressed, I decided on a little hiding place in the reeds to stand watch over the pond for the rest of the morning. I knew I wouldn’t be noticed by any swift moving eyes that passed overhead. My arms reached out and grabbed the old, torn, mesh sack that withheld the key ingredient to make this hunt a successful one. It held about roughly 12 of the old, mock mallards. They weren't exactly in their most prime condition, with their shot holes and worn paint job, but they'd have to do the job and pull their weight when it came down to it. Each one had a very strategic position on the smooth glassy surface. It only takes a few tosses with a perfect 10 landing to get the most attractive spread that will suck in those witty woodies.

After the last block hits the dirty water, I gazed back at the sky and realized the clock was ticking quicker than I had expected. The timekeeper of the heavens slowly started to peak over the distant horizon and hinted to me to assume my position. Slowly, the sky started to transform from a blank sky to a red, orange, and pink collage. A sight that amazes ones eyes every time they gaze upon it. Time just seems to stand still the longer I stare.

Soon enough, I snapped out of my elusive trans and regain my thoughts after I heard the far off shot made by a fellow hunter, signifying that the hunt has now commenced. My eyes were probably the only things that weren’t covered with camouflage, as my face was a dark as the morning sky was moments ago. I quickly moved them around and scanned the sky searching for incoming targets. The target I was after looked like a small squadron of fighter jets that soared across the sky in a perfect formation. They didn't use fuel for propulsion or large jet engines, but rather ate corn from the fields and converted that into energy to power their tiny wings that fluttered vigorously to maintain a constant speed and optimal altitude. But little did my tiny foes realize, but their wingbeat was one of the soul things that gave away their stealth. After their V was spotted on the red canvas back drop, I concentrated on the flutter of their wings and how their bodies responded to each beat. With little, but enough experience, I could easily
decipher that the incoming pattern was indeed, mallards.

As the ducks zeroed in on the landing strip placed strategically before them, I realized I had forgot one major variable to the equation. Mallards have a keen sense of hearing. So quickly I grabbed that hollow piece of exotic wood that I had slung around my neck and brought it to my lips. I started to play the instrument to an intrigued audience, and started to get a response. They started dancing through the sky closer and closer towards their final destination. I played soft and loud, making noises that would be unfamiliar to an untrained ear, but to the dancers it sounded like thee place to be that early morning. First I gained their attention but as they closed the distance between us, I had to start playing my best composition. If I played one wrong note the whole charade I was playing before them could come crashing to a halt and the incoming bogies would take a hard corner and flare to a different hidden oasis.

With the ducks on a crash course into my decoy spread, it came time to make a decision. The decision whether or not to pull up and ambush my feathered foe or to wait for the key moment to engage. The decision was made to wait impatiently and to make the perfect shot.