|all images by: theorganicbird|
Gray, low-hanging clouds make all of the colors rich. You can almost taste the green.
Old, worn wood and siding looks beautiful.
Overgrown brush is now wildly romantic.
Wild raspberries fall loose into our hands, sweet on our lips.
Misty and cool, the mountain behind us shadowed us all the way home.
If these trees could talk... they would tell you to keep walking and not listen to the praises and laments of my 28 years here on earth. It would just take too long. I've sat under these pines for hours, finding a holy sanctuary with my Father amidst the hidden patches of earth on these hills. My sister and I recently talked about Eve, and her home in the Garden. And I wonder if that's why I feel so much peace here.
I know the word says that creation groans, waiting for the redemption. Just as Adam fell from grace, the earth fell with him and waits for the new. But I like to think when creation becomes a meeting place for the Holy, it returns to Eden, if only for a few moments.
So we walk, and I remember, and pray for new to come soon. To my heart. To the stories that we tell. To this earth.
So again, I wish these summertime strolls would linger on in our hearts, in memory.
Soon, very soon, we head west. This summer will be a beaten down path that took me there but to which I cannot return. It's growing over behind me, branches snapping back, so forward we go.