I don’t know why I remember one of the many days I spent sitting in a tree stand in the early winter of three years ago. I did not see a single deer, nothing more than a possum. But although I was not lucky, that day is etched into my mind like the face on a quarter. Perhaps it was the chance to escape that made that day so memorable. Far away from everyone and everything society encases I could sit and meditate. Although I am no buddhist monk, something about the solitude and tranquility of nature allowed me to find complete relaxation.

The dry, frozen ground was coated in a multi-color blanket of the leaves abandoned long ago by the surrounding trees. There were more tones of tan amongst the assortment of oak, elm, and maple leaves than the human eye could comprehend. The underbrush had died off but the many species of thorns remained, pricking and tangling themselves into the skin and fabric of any unfortunate by-passer. Fifty yards ahead of me ran Damon Run, a minor tributary to Salt Creek that connects to the Little Calumet River. It’s shallow clay bottom and muddy water was heavily cluttered with debris and fallen logs. The water gently trickled past nearly as slow as time itself, it was the color of lightly creamed coffee.

As I heard a twig break to my right, I glanced over moving nothing but my eyes, mimicking the effects of the Mona Lisa. The gentle crack of leaves and twigs made my heartbeat accelerate, but as I sat and listened I knew it wasn’t loud enough. My ears craved the distinctively heavy yet cautious crunch that is produced by a sneaking buck. Despite my desire I was only being teased by the rustle of two playful squirrels. As the last hour of orange sherbet sunset drifted away behind the trees, the two fluffy gray squirrels seemed to be playing a game. They spiraled up a large red maple tree chasing one another as if they had made an obstacle course. As I observed the playful couple the sun emitted its last few rays of warmth. I closed my eyes and felt the gelid winter breeze argue with the last blast of sun that would glisten through the trees that day. A minute passed and the sun was gone, the songs of nocturnal creatures signaled to me it was time to head in.