I moved into the woods. All seasons are amazing, but in the winter I remember the woods the most. This was the beginning of everything and the whiteness and the starkness of it all made me feel like I belonged. You could see farther in winter but had to look harder to find anything. Things either appeared or there was nothing. It was quiet in the woods. In the woods, even when you heard a sound, it was a quiet sound, a far away sound. It was a sound that had traveled through silence. It was a dog barking or someone chopping wood. It traveled through the woods to you. No one else had heard it. Or if they did, it was different from how it came to you. This was how it was then. This was how it always was. There was this quiet sound. There were tall, tall pine trees, there were deer, there was snow, and there was me. I walked often and far in winter. As far as I could until I hit the border of a backyard.