I need to say this out loud, or whatever the written version of that is.

I need to put it somewhere outside my own head because it's been three weeks and I still can't sleep right.

And my wife is starting to look at me, the way you look at someone you're worried about, that careful look.

So here it is.

I've been hunting whitetail in the Allegheny since I was 14.

I'm 41 now.

I know those woods the way you know your own kitchen in the dark.

Where the edges are.

Where things drop off.

Where the light comes through in the morning.

I'm not some weekend warrior who gets spooked by a coyote.

I need you to understand that before I tell you the rest.

It was the second week of November.

I'd set out before dawn from the truck,

hiking about two miles into a ridge I like.

Good sight lines, mature oaks,

a creek at the bottom that deer follow like a highway.

I'd been sitting in my stand since maybe 5.15, just waiting for the world to turn on.

Nothing unusual at first. Cold. Still. The kind of quiet where you can hear your own blood moving.

Around 7.30, I noticed the birds had stopped. Now that happens.

A hawk comes through. Everything shuts up for a minute. But this wasn't a minute. This was

long. I remember checking my phone at 734 and thinking it was odd, and then checking again

...