I see things in the wilderness I do not notice at home.
Last night the sky was lit by lightning on every side —north and south, east and west— but the lightning was flashing from far away. There was no sound. There was no thunderstorm within miles of the A-frame under the stars.
The cabin by the wetland is like that — a place apart for a news-weary soul. A humble shelter of rough-cut pine without electronic devices among the crows, owls, white-tailed deer, skunks, and swans. Yes, the skunks are here, digging for grubs at night, but the skunks here don’t stink up the place like humans do back home, and, like the crows, owls, deer, and swans, they know nothing of the world I’m trying to leave behind.
This morning’s Psalm from the Daily Office of The Book of Common Prayer brings its own kind of light from afar.
We give you thank, O God, we give you thanks,
calling upon your Name and declaring your wonderful deeds.
“I will appoint a time,” says God,
“I will judge with equity.
“Though the earth and all its inhabitants are quaking,
I will make its pillars fast.
“I will say to the boasters, ‘Boast no more,’
and to the wicked, ‘Do not toss your horns;
“‘Do not toss your horns so high,
nor speak with a proud neck.’”
[Psalm 75:1-5, Book of Common Prayer]
The lightning flashes from ages ago, calling me to hope for such a time.
In the morning stillness of the wilderness, I wait.
- Gordon C. Stewart, uploading at the truck stop 12 miles away, September 23, 2017.