God must be a coon hunter.
God must be a coon hunter. He has to be. Several weeks ago my daughter and I were walking in the coon woods a couple hundred yards behind my husband and the band of coon hunting brothers. We could occasionally see their light bouncing back and forth between the trees and the moon was shining so brightly that if you let your eyes get good and adjusted to the night you could see like a dim hall light was on and you were a kid sneaking out of your room to raid the pantry in the middle of the night. Wasn't bright by any means, but it'll do. Well we had a teeny flashlight a friend had let Charlee borrow because she had left hers at home and she insisted that we use that light instead of letting the moon glow. We were walking along a good, well beaten, path with an occasional muddy spot where your rubber boots make a sucking noise from the earth trying to snatch your boot off. A couple hundred yards into the walk it started getting even muddier and pools of pollen tinged water were