Overlook, our holy mountain, is looking over us, a mostly silent witness to our wintry travail.
Cold arctic winds blow across the mountains, bringing their ﬁerce reminder of winter’s power, scattering brown leaves and making the deer in their winter yards hunker down a little more. While protected somewhat from the worst of the polar blast by the hills themselves, these powerful winds still course through the cloves and down the hollows of the southeast Catskills. I pity any creature caught out in this season.
As the cold penetrates our bones and makes its hoary way into bark and under ground, the eternal natural cycle of life and death, hunter and hunted, predator and prey comes into clear and sharp focus.