AT THE CHURCH O THE ISLAND
AT THE CHURCH O THE ISLAND, a morning thunderstorm sweeps across the lake. Garden-variety, nothing serious, but just enough booming and cracking and rain-falling to make a nice soundtrack for a Sunday morning. After my many, many thunderstorms in a canoe or a tent or just a poncho, it still feels quite luxurious to sit under a roof, with a screen, and a cup of hot coffee, and just listen and watch. Ahh…
With the high, sweet voices of white-throats and song sparrows lilting from the choir loft, and a couple of yodeling loons out on the church moat, the soundtrack is complete. Meanwhile the old deacon crows on the south shore launch into a sermon about the value of wild things and wild places, and a fine one it is.
‘Woe unto them who join house to house, that lay field to field, until there be no place that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth.’
Or something like that. Good Sabbath to you!
(Quote—Old Testament, Isaiah 5:8)