The archer's paradox

Nock, draw, touch, aim, release.

Over and over again, I repeat this process in the cool leafy shade of King's Forest, never tiring of the repetition as I stroll along the field archery course.

The next target emerges before me. My mind is silenced as I take another arrow from my quiver. The silence is broken by birdsong and a gentle breeze.

Nock...

As I repeat the process again, I recall the archer's paradox...

Draw...

An arrow does not follow the intended path. It flexes around the bow as if it will fly off course, only to flex back and correct course to find its way to the target...

Touch...

I bring the arrow to the corner of my lips, and another paradox enters my mind...

Aim...

This weapon, which was once the cause of so much bloodshed, is now a means of quiet recreation and reflection...

Release...

The arrow flexes and flies forth, whistling through the crisp morning air. With a quiet thump, it lodges itself in the targetface.

In this emulation of ancient hunting and warfare, there are no cries of anguish, no whimpers of pain or fear, no injury or death. Just silence and mindfulness amidst the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves.

An archer's paradox indeed.