29 September 2008

The High Countries

Sitting here, on a ridge that forms the side of a canyon, I can't hear a thing.

Not a single thing. Not a car, not another person, not even the wind.

I'm up around 11,000 feet, and I can see over the other side of the canyon, down onto the plain, and across the plain to the mountains on the other side, their tops swathed in golden aspens.

Soon, a bird lands on a nearby pine, and I can hear him touch the branch. The breeze picks up; I hear it blowing past my ears.

I praise God for this moment: so pure, so clear. Sitting here, I can't help but feel His presence, His peace. 

Why can't it always be like this?


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