Concentration

My bow felt heavy on my back today.

Cue regret for drinking so much last night.

Outside of my oasis, this was a place where I could blow off steam.

When it was just me and my bow, the world around me melted away. It had to be that way. If I lost focus, my target was pointless. I’d never successfully hit it.

I can’t explain the feeling that washes over me every time my arrow pierces through my target. Whether it be on the board. A tree. An apple. I change size and distance to challenge myself, but it’s difficult to go unnoticed.

Pulling the bow from my back and holding it out in front of me, I press the end of the arrow against the string and pull back. The tension in the bow causes my body to shudder with pleasure.

Holding the bow just in front of my right shoulder, I stare down at my target around one-hundred and fifty feet ahead. My eyes hyperfocus on the haphazardly painted X on the splintered tree trunk, blurring everything else around me.

Inhale. Exhale. Six. Five.