Hunting as Conservation
The tree swayed in the dark as I eased myself down onto the rickety hunter’s seat. Sitting on this little grating, swaying 30 feet above the ground, with dry leaves and winter wind swirling around me, I did not feel very secure. I waited for the darkness to turn to dawn. My friend looked one way down the clearing, I the other. Trees began to appear like streaks of charcoal against the snow.