If there is a better place to watch creation come alive than sitting quietly in an October deer stand, I’m not sure that I know where such a place is.
Slipping out yesterday a.m. before church for a quick archery deer hunt near my North Texas home, a morning of great anticipation fueled me.
Sitting in a dark ground blind, I was hoping to launch a meat missile at a buck with my Hoyt Katera.
As the Milky Way begrudgingly faded overhead, all was quite on a deliciously chilly dawn that makes a hunter’s heart glad.
As shooting time arrived on the watch, it wasn’t long before civilization began to awaken.
As the early morning noise intruded upon the quiet dawn, a band of coyotes suddenly lit up scant yards away and seemingly in my hip pocket.
What started as a single Wile E. Coyote testing his vocal chords quickly turned into a melodious song dog serenade that brought a wry smile to my face.
On a morning when it seemed otherwise, this autumn music announced that I wasn’t the only hunter in the woods, a fact that was confirmed a few minutes later as two ‘yotes quietly padded past the darkened hide.
A couple of hours later, with deer activity at a standstill and morning worship services calling me back to my family, it became apparent that the coyote music was going to be the gift of the day from the hand of God.
And that was fine with me as I trudged through brush and mud to begin my getaway.
As I walked back to the truck, I must confess that I don’t know whether or not the four-legged hunters found the sustenance they were looking for.
But what I can say with absolute clarity is that despite failing to punch a tag on this spectacular autumn morn, this hunter got what he was searching for, tag soup or not.
A chance to see another day beautifully awaken as the globe starts another turn.
The quickening of my pulse as darkness faded into light and the opportunity to hunt arrived.
A time to communicate quietly, eagerly, and expectantly with the Creator by way of humble and repentant prayer emanating from within.
A good hunting spot shared with a pair of scruffy four-legged hunters.
And a chance to once again scratch the DNA itch in my hunter’s soul that makes me feel more alive on such a fall day than perhaps at any other time of the year.
All of this accompanied, of course, by the morning’s mournful song dog serenade.