The Hills

Can we even begin to contemplate the beauty of a spring morning at dawn? Just across the way in the coming light there is a vale of fog covering the rolling hills. Dogs are barking far off in the distance causing my dog to bark. I hear Blue Jays and Mockingbirds singing because they can't contain themselves. My dog just came back in the house and is licking my arm, asking for a treat since he did such a fine job defending the house. Hold on a minute while I get him one...Ok, I'm back. I wonder if the seasons are god's way of revealing heaven's opposition to boredom. For instance, I have now seen these spring hills I described in summer, winter, and fall; and though the same hills, the scene is always unique to the season. In summer, the morning sky over those hills is resolute, shimmering, easy to understand. In the fall, it is soft, mysterious, playful. In winter, it is brooding, close, carrying a strange luminous light. As spring has sprung it is opaque, colorful, playful, alive. So often the voice of our heart wants to sing like these birds are singing, it can't help it.

wkm

Oxford MS