Vermont Maple...

A brisk November wind was blowing in from the north, but still Vermonters by the thousands like Ted Munroe from Springfield—forty years old, divorced, self-employed automobile mechanic—would brave these frigid temperatures without question in hopes of fulfilling a dream—bagging a prize-winning buck.  It was the first day of deer season and like so many others, Ted didn’t hesitate to run out to his truck at four in the morning to warm it up while preparing for the rest of his day in the warmth of his house.  He checked his backpack to make sure he had everything necessary for a successful first day of hunting before adding to it the thermos he had just filled with freshly brewed coffee and the sandwiches from the refrigerator he had made the night before.  He was ready, but before turning out the kitchen light and leaving, he squatted down to say good-bye to his one and only true friend—his dog.  With his backpack and rifle in hand, he locked the door and went out to his truck.

It started snowing as he drove down his driveway, but he knew it would offer no help in silencing the leaves as he walked through the woods, because the wind would not allow it to settle in any one spot.  As he drove to Gassetts where he had hunted for years, he could only hope that the trees would offer him some protection from the frigid wind.  Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled into his usual parking spot, but before braving the elements, he decided to load his rifle while having a cup of hot coffee and one more cigarette in the warmth of his truck.  Then, a fifteen minute hike to his deer stand still ahead of him, he shrugged into his backpack and walked into the woods.

Ted built his deer stand in one of the large maple trees that lined the bank of the Black River near a spot where deer would come to drink.  Using a small flashlight, he found fresh tracks and droppings, which proved that deer were still in the area.  He sprinkled dried deer urine around the base of the tree before climbing up to his stand with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his rifle on the other.  When he reached the platform where he would sit and wait for a prize-winning buck to show, he poured himself another coffee and lit another cigarette, but with the wind still blowing, he only took a couple of quick drags and put it out, fearing the smell might keep the deer away.  As he sat there drinking his coffee, he heard the sound of crunching leaves and whatever it was seemed to be getting closer and closer.  Not sure if it was another hunter or a deer, Ted stood up and slowly looked around as his adrenalin rose, hoping that this might be the one, but the noise stopped and so did the wind.

            Confused, but still scanning the area below his stand, he felt the wind start to blow violently and leaves being lifted from the ground started to swirl around him.  Ted felt the mass of leaves tighten around him until it was hard to breathe.  Panic set in, but the more he resisted the tighter it seemed to get and before he knew it, he was up against the tree with a thickening mass of leaves still all around him.  With his breathing becoming more difficult and weakened by the battle, he let his rifle fall from his hand and off the stand.  Before it could hit the ground below, a loud scream echoed through the woods and as quickly as the wind started—it stopped.