Quitting Time

In the distance, a bell bongs hollow from the top of the tower. The reverberations carry across the prairie places, get muddy in the woodlots, pick up speed over bodies of calmly lapping water. As if to assert its seriousness the bell sounds once more, and the huntress lowers her bow, and the red deer walks calmly back into the gloom. "Tomorrow," she says under her breath. "And tomorrow," it echoes back.