My history at the cabin along Lake Erie had been sketchy. Long story short, my previous travels to Skenandoa Deep had turned ugly. Snow lay on the ground with thick layers of ice back in March, and I had taken the most spectacular photographs for Northern Territory Land. The lake itself had been partially frozen at the time. The trees were bare of life, frozen in time. For seven days, the temperature never reached more than twenty degrees outside. Had it not been for Timber, keeping me warm at night, I probably would have frozen to death.
Timber. Who was he? What did I want him to be?
While visiting Skenandoa Deep, only two days into my trip, I had accidentally fallen in love with the man. During a fresh snowfall, I became uncontrollably infatuated with him, mostly because of his bear-li
