Hunting Memories

That summer, my father took me into the forest for the first time and taught me hunting skills. Before setting off, he handed me a small 12g carbon dioxide cylinder, "This is the 'heart' of the air gun, you have to take good care of it." I held the cold cylinder, and the texture of the metal conveyed unknown excitement. The cicadas in the forest were deafening, and I followed my father to grope. My father motioned me to squat. Not far away, a hare was lowering its head to eat grass. I trembled as I installed the cylinder into the air gun. This was a step I had practiced repeatedly before setting off, but at this moment my hands were out of control. "Hold your breath." My father's voice came from behind me. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. With a "whoosh", the high-pressure gas released by the cylinder pushed the bullet out, but it brushed the hare's ears. The hare fled in fear and disappeared in the bushes. I lowered my head in frustration, but my father smiled and patted my shoulder: "It's good that you can aim for the first time." He took off the empty cylinder and replaced it with a new one. "Hunting is not for killing, but for feeling nature and tempering one's mind." In the days that followed, the 12g cylinder became my most familiar partner. Every time I reloaded it, it was like completing a ritual; every time I fired it, I was in awe of nature. Gradually, I learned to predict the actions of prey and to become one with the mountains and forests. Now, the cylinder has become an indispensable partner for my hunting, carrying the sweat and growth of that summer, and also carrying the profound lesson about life and nature that my father taught me.