Church O The Island

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

The Morning


SEVEN BELOW ZERO at the Church O’ The Pines this morning. The congregation of hearty woodland souls seems unfazed. All the normal goodies are set out in Fellowship Hall, and our church members rub elbows and gossip, as is the case in all the churches I have known. The Bald Eagle was here last evening in the fading light, but