Up The Ravine

Once in the forest, I am gathered in the dim light, among a subtle diffusion of yellow greens and reddish tones of the floor. Here, large stands of Hemlock, high branches hung with club moss, cover the steep inclines, packed tightly together. The mountain on which this forest is fashioned, is a series of steps, ravines, draws, slides, meadows, and cliffs up to the far timberline 2000' above. What distinguishes this place is the wetness of rot and decay. This is a rain forest where large amounts of moisture continually feed the land. The ravines are filled with fallen trees, choked in places with shrubbery; the draws advance up the mountain, lined with berry brush; the slopes and benches are cut by angled trails that lead up to where the deer sit and watch the hunters climb; the slides are shaled breaks from the cliffs high on the crest; and the meadows, open to the clouds and sun and sky, are filled with thickets and thorns. But I like being here nevertheless, and the zig-zag movements, around obstacles of slippery rock or brush, helps the climb, preserves the energy while keeping a good view of the land above. Here is the world of the deer,who on the upper levels, watch for danger below. Any touch of wind can bring my smell to them, causing a stir in the brush, or up on the cliffs, their sudden departure. Humans smell of death. I am here as a hunter, as a killer, as dark drama in the lime green woods, slowly creeping from level to level; as a hungry predator. Perhaps these solitary hours of wandering, have awakened primeval yearnings; somewhere at the base of the brain, primitive center of the survival mode, slowly taking hold of my appetites. I feel the civilized comforts melt away; leaving in place, a savage taste for blood. The instincts of predatory imagination stir like a wind within me; the legacy of human history gone into reverse. I am at the top of the food chain, with only the bear in close second; and death is always near. The deer know I am here in their woods.