IN THE FOREST, some things glow. Even on a cloudy, drizzly evening, half an hour before dark, they glow. Not so much from the sunlight, of which there is little, but somehow from within. A red maple Kathy and I planted twenty years ago. A redbud tree like the one my grandad and I planted and watered so faithfully, one
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE ISLAND, outside the slammin’ screen door of the Dear Old Cabin (100 years old next year) things are green and growing. Except for the rocks which are gray and weathering. A morning thunderstorm helps with both processes (albeit microscopically with the rock part). Yesterday saw the arrival of Son #1 and family, today Son #2
HERE AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES on Palm Sunday, we have no tropical fronds to lay before an honored Teacher. But snow is beginning to fall and it appears the pine boughs will soon be bending low. Nor have we hosannas to shout—although the blue jays are hollering enthusiastically. But we recall the story of a humble donkey bearing
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES, it is a day for truths. As all days are. Truth. Truth. Truth. Truth. It is repeated over and over, from every tree, every animal and bird, every cloud passing overhead, every whispering breeze. The message never varies, and never is there so much as an interruption for a lie. And one is suddenly,
HERE AT The Church O The Pines, we make no differentiation between nature and the realm of the sacred. We believe that heaven ‘is as much under our feet as over our heads.’ We agree with the Zen poet who said, “Green trees, fragrant grasses… a place not sacred? Where?” We know that human beings are natural creatures, as much
THESE ARE interesting times. When we have over 40% of the country happily abandoning every value and virtue they were raised in and once believed in, instead following a Pied Piper of mayhem who says, “It’s great! You can say anything and do ANYTHING and nothing happens. Don’t be suckers! Follow me!!” When we have an entire political party of
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is a Sunday morn, and the members of our humble woodland congregation—ranging from snow fleas to eagles—strive for even greater levels virtue and moral rectitude than is normally the case. Although in truth I can tell no difference. The sun has arisen in the east, as is its wont, and shines brightly on
THERE ARE COUNTLESS pathways in life. And each step we take, intentional or otherwise, leads us further down the path we are on, or towards a fork and yet another choice. For Kathy and me, our paths led to each other and, eventually, down this little lane to an old log cabin in a place we call The Church O’
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, the deacons are beginning to don their white robes… The squirrels and bluejays are full of piss and vinegar, busy-busy, sending that more is to come.
TODAY THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES is locked in ice and snow. We will be returning there this evening, as we leave sunny Florida behind. We have had a lovely time celebrating granddaughter Sofie’s 1st birthday, visiting the beach, spending time with Eric and Ryan. Just sitting in the shade of a palm tree in the backyard seemed like a