We hear the poem "Survivor" by Dave Seter.
Survivor
High above the ore mines of Palmerton,
I never expected it, hiking.
But when the air sang in my ear,
I knew the bullet came close.
I hugged the forest floor and shouted
until the rifles stopped popping.
Far down canyon a ricochet of sound
clattered among zinc-rich rock.
One last stray shot out of season,
and a chickadee flushed from rhododendron.
My nose rested on decayed leaves
in the attitude of the routinely hunted—
deer that dodge and freeze—plentiful
among mountain laurel and hemlock.
Who was I to complain? Adrenaline
makes the heart pump faster,
dusts off the complacency of hiking
unguarded into October.