ON THIS SEPTEMBER morning, the river lies still and flawless as a mirror. Kathy walks out the door towards the woods, calling—as she does every morning—‘Good MORN-ing.’ In a Mom’s gentle sing-song voice. The blue jays answer with wild anticipation. The chipmunks scurry near-by, the squirrels clamber down from their tall trees. But it is really the deer she is
GOLDEN MORNING on the Mississippi, under the big pines. White horses of mist race across the water. Jays, chickadees, nuthatches, offer their morning greetings. It has been a weekend with grandchildren. Fishing, horse barn, muffins, a late movie, snuggling on the couch. The kind of time that is good for grandparents, and children. A good morning.
SOMETIMES, rising in the morning, simply going out the cabin door and looking up… is enough to begin the day with perspective. Peace. Inspiration. As Aldo Leopold said, “I love all trees. But I am in love with pines.” It is good to live in the company of trees.
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
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