I wake up and feel the bitter wind against my skin

I get dressed in a color I never wear

I step outside my shelter made of frozen snow

The bitter wind of the northland chills my face

I zip my coat tighter and put on nice warm gloves

I mount my snowmobile and set off into the woods with a rifle strapped on my back

After a few miles I pull up to a broad maple tree with a woodem platform in it

I dismount my snowmobile and start climbing up to my stand

I sit in wait for hours listening to the squirrels and birds

I see a flash of brown off the one side

I pick up my rifle, stroking the cold steel barrel, tracing my finger thruough the engravings

I aim and see a buck standing

He looks straight at me as if he is trying to stare me down

I squeeze the trigger

He falls 

I climb down the tree and mount my snowmobile.

I clean him and haul him back to my shelter

I will survive another harsh winter