The joy of hunting.

Nothing beats the woods.  It is you, alone, in the browns and yellows of fall. I, like the season that I love to hunt, are in the fall. The fall reminds me of my life.  There is a lot to learn from the seasons of the woods.  Fall starts out nice, but soon turns brutal. The fall of the season is only short lived, lasting only three months; but on the other hand, the fall of my life is permanent never to return.  Once I move out of the fall in my life and into winter there is no going back. Spring, to me is let's say from birth to around twenty-five years of age. Summer is twenty-five to around forty. Fall, the season that I now occupy is forty to say, sixty-five. The cold of winter starts up slow and you have some nice days, but you soon know that it was just a ruse.  In the woods the agility and brashness of youth is made up by experience of years of hunting. The quiet hours that I spend in the woods with my bow are used to contemplate my existence on this planet. Sometimes I think hunting is only an excuse to enjoy the company of solitude. There is something to be said for silence. If you stand still long enough the birds, squirrels, and other animals will soon forget that you exist. The same as it is in life. You become a part of the greenery, a part of the scenery, a part of their world. Squirrels, black, red, fox, and gray will start to chatter and complain to each other. Birds with sing with abandon and woodpeckers will peck like tiny Teamsters on jackhammers. Hawks will scream and geese will honk and if you take one step it will vanish as if the sound never was in the first place. Magical.  The woods are now empty of sound after that first step. Sometimes, it is better to be still and just listen.