AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is late July, and in the midst of political dysfunction, human ignorance and other annoyances, things are living and growing and blooming as they should. Which is reassuring and, on a Sunday morning, restorative. From its nest tree, the eaglet screams to its parents for more fish. Chipmunks chip. Red squirrels scold. Sparky the Cardinal sings his scarlet songs. Our friendly chickadees confide gently as always, and bluejays spread gossip through the woods. Having weathered early summer storms—and any more to come, we hope—the deacon pines stand tall and maintain the dignity of the chapel.
Kathy’s gardens add color and loveliness to the grounds, a good reminder that human beings and nature can work together in the creation and nurturing of beauty. A yellow and black bumblebee buzzes among the blossoms. High overhead a broad winged hawk circles and sends its high whistle toward the heavens. Old Man River flows lazily by, the swift and urgent current of spring now relaxed.
The Parson/Caretaker sits and observes all of this, recalling that in long ago boyhood days, mid-summer seemed to be a time of relaxation and indolence, bobber-fishing and the pondering of floating clouds. And with a deep breath and a view upward through soaring trunks and spreading limbs, he notes that when one simply sees what he is looking at, listens to what he is hearing, smells what he is breathing, and sits where he is sitting, such peace is still available. It is a good thing to remember.
Wherever you find your peace and a feeling of belonging, our humble congregation wishes you Good Sabbath.