By Esta Pratt-Kielley, originally published by Curb Magazine
The woods are silent at 4:30 in the morning.
Like every year, the hunters are out as the sun creeps above the horizon.
Like every year, the hunters wear blaze orange and camouflage, wrapped in layers to brace against the Wisconsin cold that penetrates their bones.
Like every year, they hold their guns ready, senses attuned to what nature tells them. They listen to the birds and squirrels emerging from their nests and hear the forest start to come alive.
Like every year, the family is ready for another deer hunting season, finally in the woods after a year of excitement and anticipation for opening day.
But unlike every year, one face is missing.