HERE AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES
HERE AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES, it is a blustery November morning. The wind blows sharply off the river, while a low overcast contends with blue sky for dominance. The wind chimes on the deck sing, each with its own voice. Meanwhile the mostly bare branches of maples and basswoods whip wildly while the pine tops sway. The last of the yellow ironwood leaves swirl through the yard. Koda-the-Forest-Kitten ventures out, then comes back in, then out, then in, feeling uncertain about the prospects of the day. Birds and squirrels are mostly quiet, hidden back in the woods, away from chilly gusts. I hear one jay shout his name.
It is not the most fair and beautiful of days, but it is a good day—as most are—to be in the forest, watching, listening, being, noting the changing of the seasons. Sometimes we, like the birds, take shelter in the woods, absorbing the good tidings of the trees. Wherever you take shelter, or greet an uncertain day, or smile at the bold call of a blue Jay, we wish you Good Sabbath.
