Ever since I was a young man I’ve enjoyed going for drives out in the country. Driving top down in a convertible, or at least with the windows down in a sedan, is the only way to go. You can hear bird songs, insects chirping, and the melancholy sounds from the cattle. The smells of new mown hay, the freshness of a stand of pine trees, and the delicate aroma of life come wafting in. These are the moments when I feel part of the earth, not merely a spectator just watching it go by. This is the time my head clears and my shoulders suddenly lose the burden they have been carrying.
I love this time.
Rain came to south and central Texas during the night. The parched soil eagerly absorbed the life giving moisture. It came in quantities that created small areas of run-off; pockets of water collecting in depressions. Early in the morning rodents, snakes, insects, deer, and all matter of wildlife emerged to quench their thirst. It was a celebration. Life would go on. Rain has come!
Then the hunters arrived.
Central and south Texas play host to the largest hawk migration in North America. Kettles of hawks numbering in the hundreds can be seen riding the thermals in the Texas sky. North of Corpus each year the count exceeds three quarters of a million birds of prey soaring through the area. Mid September is the peak time of this migration with over 30 different species of migrating raptors calling the state of Texas their temporary residence.
The year long drought in Texas, the migration, and the rain falling during the night and thus the clearing at sunrise created the perfect storm for the hunters. Usually 
seen soaring high in the sky hawks and eagles were abundant at eye level. With every turn I saw the flash of feathers. Great wings stretched out, their spans riding the ground effect cushion of air just over the tops of the wild grasses. From all points they came; across the valleys, down the hillsides, from the tree tops, and through the fields. Big birds so close I looked them in the eye. Talons held at the ready. To be small, on the ground, and to move meant sure death.
In addition to the nutrients the rain washed into the rivers it also awakened the insects creating a smorgasbord for largemouth bass. As I took a break from my drive and gazed into a river I could see swarms of insects hovering at the surface. The smooth plane of the fast moving water was broken by a large black shadow emerging from the depths. It happened so fast all I saw clearly was the large tail of a 20+ inch largemouth flick slowly sending it back down into the murky waters as it took one of the flying bugs with it.
The hunters did not arrive only from the sky or sea, they waited in the wood. The forests helped to conceal their intent. Pine needles carpet the ground; dropped from the trees above who, due to a lack of rain, could no longer spare the water to keep them green. These same needles muffle the sounds of padding paws as they slink through the shadows in search of prey.
As I crest a hill out of the corner of my eye I see a deer dart across the road to the cover of the other side. As I feather the brakes to bleed off some speed I smile and think to myself, “where there is one deer a second will surely follow.” True to form moments later a second smaller doe bounds from the woods on the left and crosses at full speed to the right.
I have seen much. While not in the winter of my life I’m also no longer called a young man. In all my years I have never witnessed the scene that was about to unwind in the next few seconds. I don’t believe I would be disappointed if I never saw it again
Racing at full speed, low to the ground just prior to the leap onto the back of its prey 
a coyote came crashing through the brush to the left. Razor sharp teeth bared, its tail fully extended acting as a rudder in midair to help with sudden turns, the adrenalin in its system would naturally dilate its pupils so it could gain the upmost advantage of sight; singularly focused on one thing, the running deer. The time span of a heartbeat, not seconds but tenths of seconds, separated it from victory.
Then it all changed.
While I don’t know the thought process, instinct, or all the details, I do know what happened.
Those ears that can hear a leaf rustle hundreds of yards away heard a sound foreign to it. A sound of danger. The sound of its only predator; man. No mufflers, no catalytic converters, just straight stainless steel pipes leading to two small baffles. Those ears heard the scream of an Italian V12 engine down shifting.
“STOP!” “TURN!” “RUN!”
And in the blink of an eye the chase was over.
I know it was how God intended it. I know there was no malice, no evil thoughts. I know it was as it should be.
I know all that.
I don’t know why, but I also know I’m glad he turned around and the doe lived to see another day.
Tags: Cars, Ferrari, Nature, sportscars, Texas