It’s almost the perfect afternoon for deer hunting. There’s just enough nip in the air to warrant this knit hat, and the air is crisp enough to turn my breath into small billows with every exhale.

There’s not much wind, but what little there is creates a wind-chime effect with the red, yellow and orange aspen leaves. They’re tickling in the treetops above me in a confetti-like dance. I’m taking it all in, saying that I’m deer hunting but I’m just out here to relax. And think. And ponder life’s complexities.

Have you have noticed how such vigils invariably bring profound moments? They happen all the time out here on the deer stand. The older I get, the more I realize that almost every hunt is wrought with higher meaning, although I’ll admit they’re easy to miss if you’re not “in the moment.”

I’m dialed today, however, and the moment occurred just, well, moments ago when a chickadee flitted through those same treetops and landed on a tiny twig not 3 feet from my head. The black-capped companion brought an immediate smile because these are the birds my mom loved the most. She would parody their sweet two-note (“see-say”) song when she hung clothes on the wash line or weeded in her massive vegetable garden during my childhood.

Unfortunately, on this day, the ever-perky bird was not singing that song of rebirth. Instead, it was reciting the call for which it is known, but it went something like, “chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee.”

It repeated that chorus for several minutes, and each one included four “dees.” When I was a younger hunter, I never paid much mind to that, or any, bird song. Back then, it was just about the hunt — the deer showing up; the waiting for it to get in position for a shot; the physical release of the arrow or pull of the trigger.

The profoundness of this bird’s song told me that the chickadee was singing an ever-so subtle song of danger. You see, with chickadees, the more “dees” at the end of their verse, the more agitated they are with what they’ve found. And they’re warning the world around them of that discovery.

I might be overthinking it, but my guess is this bird instinctively knew I was danger because it sensed my tension. My mind is on life’s other, more stressful matters, and that aura is seeping out of my pores like the pine sap dripping from the freshly cut limb that’s holding my bow and arrows.

Thank you, Mr. Chickadee. I needed that reminder. Life is too short to emit this kind of negative energy. Focus, Dan. Focus on the positive. Clear your head and let the stress melt away.

Maybe the chickadee will change its tune. And, who knows? Maybe even a deer will show up.