AT THE CHURCH O THE ISLAND, green things grow. A mama merganser clucks from the shoreline. Birds sing from leafy bowers. A light wind ruffles the lake and wavelets chuckle among the rocks. Pine bows nod and aspens shiver. The sun charts its course across the morning sky. And one notices, absentmindedly at first, how many things are good and right. The morning newspaper in the phone will wait until later. From the island, we wish you Good Sabbath.