Going to Church on Sunday

Sunday morning and the dog and I are up and out the door. We are heading to church but unlike my fellow townsfolk my church is the forest.

I am, however, a devoted parishioner as I worship several times a week if I am able. My hymns are the croak of the raven, the breeze in the trees, the small birds, the whittering of the eagle, and the alarm thump of the startled whitetail. The trees—cedar, lodgepole, white pine, ponderosa, douglas fir—are my apostles and their gospels of silence fill my heart with quiet and solace.

This Sunday was no different as Mollie and I walked a common circuit of Butterfly, Momentum, Pine Cone, and finally Owl, they were our order of service this morning. The forest decked out in a fresh coating of powdery snow that fell from the sky and drifted loose from the tree tops with each breeze.

We were blessed with a Bald Eagle landing in the tree over our heads.