My labored breathing carries through the woods like a child’s laughter. The consistent pounding in my chest augments the barely perceptible reverberations of summer.

The skeletal branches of the trees bend just short of snapping. Their spines creak in the biting wind. The bright-white silence of death fills the moments of emptiness, a constant contrast to the rare instance of life.

The elusive quiet always returns, but there is no fear in the woods.