CALLAWAY
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A Successful Deer
Hunt Another morning I rush to my stand, under a moon lit sky, with my companions, longbow with arrows that are eager to fly. I climb, with excitement, to the big limbs that form a lazy "V" and I settle into the seat provided by the mature live oak tree.
and I hear praise being lifted to God by each awakening bird. Squirrels are seen stretching for a moment then scurrying from limb to limb as they feel the approaching winter forcing busy days on them.
My mind starts racing through new thoughts and memories of days before as I contemplate the vastness of God’s creation and blessings that lie in store. I am transformed to feelings of a youth, that knew little stress, and I become attuned to nature as my worries are allowed to decompress.
I sit dreaming of the deer that have yet to be seen, and I remember past experiences with this wilderness king. I wonder if today will be the day that "Old Mossey" and I meet, will he again avoid me or will he lay motionless at my feet.
In the distance, I hear the rustling from a carpet of dry leaves, that October winds have dislodged from the trees. I know that the familiar sound very well might suggest, deer are approaching to put my stealth to the test.
I soon glimpse "Old Mossey" as he cautiously moves into my range, now seeing his enormous crown makes me feel a bit strange. My heart beat starts to race and my hands develop a slight shake as they ready the bow and arrow with the care that I know I must take.
Muscles tighten against the bow’s resistance, and the excited arrow falls from its rest, which causes panic to overtake me, for I know this deer’s sagaciousness. I fearfully extend my focus to assess what damage had been done, and instantly I realize the outcome of this hunt; "Old Mossey" had again won.
My heartbeat slows to normal and my countenance surely displays regret. I know this day’s encounter is an experience I will never forget. The hunt now a memory and in the recesses of my mind forever ingrained. I reluctantly reminisce, for the success is personal and hard to explain.
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