Quiet Earth

I slept late. I flip the tent fly back and look out.  The sun is cresting the lower hills and the meadow below us is already glistening with a light frost.  The stream and the sky are blue and clear. I see the water flowing shallow at the crossing.

The earth is quiet now and the heavens are hushed.  The world is waiting its turn.

They are too far away for my poor hearing. I can see that the kids are laughing and talking as they lower the bear bag. Our food is hung on the outstretched limb of a tall gray-black tree that stands on a little rise overlooking the creek bank. That big dead tree is a widow-maker. It’s the best we could do before the darkness overtook us.

In the distance, the mountain’s shadow is carefully working its way back down to the trailhead. A light wind starts at the lake and heads back the other direction. It’s fluttering through the upper valley, gently brushing the tall grasses here and there on its way to the ridge that marks the divide above. A breeze touches the canopy directly over my head. There is barely a whisper from the forest.  Leaves are starting to fall around the edges of our campsite.

The mountain is breathing soft and slow.  The high country is waiting its turn.

The young folks return to camp by different paths. That’s how they were taught.  In just a little while, the morning dew will burn away and the grass will lift its head again. Then there will be no trace that the children ever waded knee-deep through these pastures.

Now I can hear their voices. Each is distinct.  The oldest is telling a story. The one carrying the food is singing.  And they are being so loud!  Praise God.

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As he was drawing near—already on the way down the Mount of Olives—the whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.” (Luke 19:37-40 ESV)