Pausing under a large oak tree, I look up at the smattering of remaining red leaves hanging to the branches with the last of their life.

Soon, they'll fall to the ground, adding themselves to the carpet of sodden leaves I'm standing on.

After that, they'll decompose, helping provide nutrients to their parent tree, and all the other trees

and plants around.

The rolling Adirondack Mountains stretch out on all sides of me, imbuing me with the sense

of calm I only ever get once a year, hunting season.

I inhale deeply, savoring the rich, earthy smell of a changing landscape, one nearing the end

of its life cycle, preparing to batten down for winter.

I adjust my rifle by the strap over my shoulder absently, letting my thoughts wander

aimlessly around the subject of life cycles.

The trees and plants have theirs, so do the animals. And so do we. They all feed into each other

in a kind of brilliant give and take. Being part of the cycle brings me a pride and joy that are

unparalleled in every other part of my life.

Being able to come out here during the fall months and, hopefully, shoot me a deer, is something I look forward to every year.

Don't get me wrong. I take tremendous pride and joy in raising my kids and being a good husband.

Like plants and animals, we all live in a give-and-take balance, complementing each other. Bringing

home meat to feed my family is an excellent feeling. But being out here is what it's all about.

Bagging a deer is a bonus.

I don't understand how some men go their whole lives without hunting or camping.

It's baffling to me.

Something moves off in the distance, and it sounds big.

Maybe as big as a deer.

...