For every living object, its life will come to an end eventually. For a deer, it could be a pack of hungry coyotes. For a pheasant it could be a hunting dog, trying to please its master. For a turkey, it could be a bear. For a moose, it could be a pack of wolves.

Animals will live their lives. And us humans will live ours. When you hunt, you step into the animal's domain. You see what they see, hear what they hear. All of the trees turned all different colors. Golden brown, red, orange, sparkle through the trees. Squirrels playing in the undergrowth, chattering and rustling the dry leaves. Crows soaring high above the pines and fir trees, that seem to never end. Ruffed grouse beating their wings, sounding like an engine.

The crows start cawing their call. The squirrels stop skittering. The pheasant’s feathers fail to flutter. And then you see the big black body of a bear. He moves towards a doe and fawn he has scented. The fawn has not left her mother's side since spring. The doe scents the bear and flees, but the fawn falters, failing to flee. The bear bugles its roar and its lunges towards the lone, and lingering fawn. Taking the life from the forgotten fawn. 

I know that I have just witnessed an act of nature, and it does not bother me. For every living object, its life will come to an end.