Another Sunday afternoon.
My mad love-affair with these mountains.
The canyon, the stony crags, the pines.
What is it about nature that compels us to God?
A communion, the solitude, a sacrament.
Is it any wonder ancient prophets revered such summits as temples?
The turning of the seasons.
The pines, with needles pointing heavenward, in flagrant worship of their God.
The cool September sky.
Hardly a cloud in the heavens; a secret cavern full of records.
A waterfall, the mountain's tears through a crevice.
Some trees dying, others giving life new birth.
Shards of granite.
Quarry to the monumental edifice of God.
The colors, crimson, orange, yellow.
The transformation begins.
What makes these turn red while encumbered by a world of green?
How do they know the end to which they were created?
Perfect obedience of the elements.
Even nauseousness of the altitude could not hope to steal the splendor.
Such beauty, such wonder;
And He created this all for me?
The wind sings of peace to my heart.
"Be still, and know that I am God."
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2 comments:
I love your description of your "mad love-affair." It's great! You give abundant examples of God's hand in many aspects of nature. Your line "always watching for moose" didn't seem to have the same feel as the rest of the poem. I really enjoyed your use of questions throughout. Good job.
I love the flow of language and fluency of thought. The word "nauseousness" seems a bit jarring near the end. Could you leave it out, or find a less marked lexical item?
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