A bit of poetry for your Tuesday.
The Sentinel
On a hilltop overlooking a small village
Stands a sentinel ever watchful
Never moving always on guard
Protecting all below.
His gaze never wavering
Looking over the horizon
Stoically waiting for the need
To unleash his power over the realm.
Though he is made of plaster and wood
His mere presence gives comfort and courage
To the villagers below
Having faith in the belief that the Sentinel will stand for them.
A woman's view of hunting...with men 
When one is lost and weary – these sentinels of plaster and wood become alive and give great comfort as beacons of hope, I reckon.
Yes they do. Thank you, Eric.