We live in the country. It would seem that every day is quiet. It is, until you sit in a hunting stand for hours and hours, listening.

Listening to squirrels raiding the bird feeder.

With a break to walk the dog and listen to snow falling.

This is the view from the base of a very tall tree stand. I refuse to hunt from the top of this tree. I did see some deer here, eventually. They saw me too and disappeared back into the brush. It was a very exciting 30 seconds.

We’ve had sun and snow and sun and snow.

Listening to the wind reminds me of ocean surf, but not as regular. You can also hear a gust approach, see the trees bend, then feel it as it passes over.
The deer were scarce on our little area of woods this year. The farmer who rents our fields disced the soy bean remnants under two weeks before the season started. The fellow who usually hunts just north of us skipped coming out this year. This meant the deer had no cause to cross our fields or wander our woods. The squirrels and birds didn’t mind.
Black powder season arrived and so we will keep enjoying the noise that comprises quiet for a while longer, until we have completed our hunt and retreat into our normal noise of wood stoves creaking, ducks quacking, chickens crowing, dogs snuffling, electricity humming and, when we are lucky, loved ones snoring.