The morning light is soft
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES the morning light is soft. The breeze is soft, over the river. The wind chimes tinkle softly. The air is humid, and it is the season when quilts of fog hang over wetlands and fields in the evening. It is in many ways a gentle time of year. No more the blazing heat of midsummer, not yet the crackling cold of winter. Gone, too, is the feverish activity of growth and nest-building and child-rearing and all the rest among the plants and animals of our little woodland congregation.
But of course life is never simple. Diligent preparations are underway, for mighty migrations and long slumbers, for the building up of stores to survive the hardships of the cold, dark months ahead.
But that is still a ways off. Perhaps it is permitted, by the Overseer of such things, to pause just a little. To breathe deeply and enjoy the morning sunlight. To listen to the gentle voices of chickadees and nuthatches, gossiping about the not-earthshaking news of the forest.
To just… be.