Almost hidden, glinting faintly below the trees, under the bar-berry bush and the rabbits-foot fern, the still stream glistens, small wildflower-petals dotting its surface.
It moves silently through the marshy woods, its bed richly robed in the blackened leaves of last season, each leaf in turn covered with a fuzzy-looking blanket of light brown decay.
No noise makes the stream in this part of its journey, as its waters glide very slowly along. Nothing moves this quiet morning to stir its bed.
Each place in this world has its own peculiar beauty. Every spot is filled with Light. Each small place finds its own way to show forth the awe we share.
Take some time to worship in the silent manner of this stream.
May we may find many such moments of peace in our lives.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
It Moves Silently
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