What a contrast to my stuffy dorm room of books and clutter, what an inviting scene in comparison to my overheated cave of solitude, a stuffy place on a rainy evening in mid October. To think that I was on that spur of rock only five days ago, saturated with the blue sky and light-footed as a mountain goat on the heights, to remember that I and fellow hikers were drizzled with a few sparkles of rain on the way down is almost beyond my comprehension, it seems so long ago. It was indeed a restoring Sabbath, once again in the White Mountains, once again among rocks and chickadees and great people, among clouds... an airy trip, a blessed feeling--was it only a dream of heaven? From this hard wooden chair and dreary yellow light it almost seems so. Were angels holding up that slab of stone? Likely, I only have the pictures to prove that I was there.
1 comment:
Beautiful pictures... isn't the God we serve an amazing landscaper? You must spend forever coming up with such poetic captions on them... I would have said "here is a mountain", "this is rain" and other equally interesting explanations.
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