I asked Gemini to write a poem about rimfire benchrest. Crappy weather out, not much to do.
In the quiet gap between heartbeats, where the wind holds its breath, lies the world of **rimfire benchrest**. It’s a sport of millimeters, where "close enough" is miles away.
### The Precision of the Line
The heavy barrel rests, a steady weight,
Adjusted by the knobs of iron fate.
The scope brings circles close, a focused eye,
While flags tell tales of breezes drifting by.
A single drop of lead, a tiny spark,
To find the center of the smallest mark.
No thunder here, just a sharp, metallic "crack,"
And the steady slide of steel along the track.
### The Elements of the Shot
* **The Rest:** A fortress built of sand and heavy steel.
* **The Wind:** A fickle ghost only the flags can feel.
* **The Trigger:** A feather’s touch, a sudden, crisp release.
* **The Group:** Five holes that merge to bring the shooter peace.
No margin for the tremor or the stray,
In the silver world where tiny giants play.
For when the card is pulled and scores are read,
The truth is written in the dots of lead.
---
Would you like me to generate an image of a high-end rimfire benchrest rifle setup on a firing line?
In the quiet gap between heartbeats, where the wind holds its breath, lies the world of **rimfire benchrest**. It’s a sport of millimeters, where "close enough" is miles away.
### The Precision of the Line
The heavy barrel rests, a steady weight,
Adjusted by the knobs of iron fate.
The scope brings circles close, a focused eye,
While flags tell tales of breezes drifting by.
A single drop of lead, a tiny spark,
To find the center of the smallest mark.
No thunder here, just a sharp, metallic "crack,"
And the steady slide of steel along the track.
### The Elements of the Shot
* **The Rest:** A fortress built of sand and heavy steel.
* **The Wind:** A fickle ghost only the flags can feel.
* **The Trigger:** A feather’s touch, a sudden, crisp release.
* **The Group:** Five holes that merge to bring the shooter peace.
No margin for the tremor or the stray,
In the silver world where tiny giants play.
For when the card is pulled and scores are read,
The truth is written in the dots of lead.
---
Would you like me to generate an image of a high-end rimfire benchrest rifle setup on a firing line?
