Pine Log in July

The music began with the crunching of slate and dirt under my shoes,
as I made my way down the access road that would lead me to my
constant and sympathetic friend,Pine Log.Pine Log's sympathy
means so much to me for it has been around so long,and has
seen so much.The stories it could tell! The pictures it could paint!


Pine Log in July is a mature Pine Log.The days of its infancy has past.
Its thinking has changed,it wears a new set of clothes.The tenderness
of spring has past.Left only,are etched memories of impatient green
and gold buds,luminous green leaves,angelic bluebells,and most
importantly,the palpable magic that hangs in the new air of spring.

I sat on the familiar bench overlooking a slow moving,elegant,in a
primal way,Pine Log. The most magnificent aerial concert came
floating out across the methodical waters.Warbles,tweets,and calls,
in different tones,different decibels,different ranges,all at once,yet
wonderfully synchronized,captivating,comforting.

A mature Pine Log,instead of lamenting what was to come,
was showing me how to observe and enjoy the moment.
I sat,consoled,soothed, renewed,on the banks of a mature
Pine Log,and I too, felt mature.

Going Away

Once again I hear something from a world 

so close,and yet,so far away,coaxing me 

to go,no,to come.

Once again the wall,the steeled wall ,begins

to give way,as the call permeates,and sweet 

relief breaches the barrier.

The wall breached,I am now soaring,redeemed,

deep,calling to deep,sweet communion,medicine

applied,only available in this place to which I have 

been called.

Once again,for a sweet soul cleansing,eternal

second;the necessary evils of life,lain aside.

Free,untethered,relieved,the invitation to "come

away" given,and I must go.

The lament of the bluebells

I knew what my destination would eventually be,as i set off on a quiet Sunday evening,in mid May.The air was nice and cool,a treat for this time of year,especially with the temperatures predicted to be in the nineties by late week.The grass was wet,so my shoes and pants were soon soaked,as I kept moving deliberately towards my destination on the south side of Pine Log.I knew full well what I was,or rather was not going to see, once I got there.Pine Log,though beautiful as always,seemed to have a bittersweet,poignant,feel to it.As one might have on the way to see a sick or dying friend.Soon I found myself at my intended location,and began scanning the banks of bluebell island for any sign of the uncommonly beautiful,awe inspiring plants that had center stage just a week or two ago.The only sign left was a few dead and or dying leaves,face down towards the ground they had sprang from.Though I knew full well what I was going to see,the shock was still painful.They were giving way to harsher,more aggressive plants.In my lament of their swift passing, I was reminded of a an observation of a man raised up to minister to the gentiles many years ago.He observed that "the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now.My lament was somewhat softened by a promise made from an ancient Book many years ago.That one day even the desert itself would blossom like a rose.Reluctantly I leave bluebell island to suffer the fate passed on to it because of the edenic episode,heartened only by the fact that it would not always be this way.Setting my sights on home I began the walk along the banks of Pine Log.Stopping to peer over the bank ,I catch my reflection in it's mirrored waters.Once again I am caught off guard by what I see,and my lament is once again softened by the voice of the ancient book."Behold I make all things new."May your laments,which are unavoidable be softened,your pain eased by all of his unfailing promises.Lamenting,yet believing,from Pine Log.

What say ye Pine Log?

What say ye Pine Log?Of the glorious spring that has descended upon you,enveloped you,framed you as an artist frames his masterpiece.What say ye ancient,patient,faithful Pine LOG? Of the tangible,magical awe that has returned once again to comfort,thrill,reward you.Of the old friends who have returned to visit,spend time with you,console you,consort with you.Your pace seems more resolute now,your voice more eager,tinged with uncontrollable joy,mirth,unbridled.But what say ye Pine Log?Has the long cold winter been worth it?The long,cold,dark nights when not one star could be seen.You drifted along  faithfully,lonely,yet patient.Your visitors were few,the harsh conditions mandated it.Yet you kept moving,waiting,forgiving.The wait must have been forever,excruciating.I already know the answer,Pine Log,for I am you,and you are me,we have been interwoven into His tapestry,we share a common origin.What say ye Pine LOG? As the days slowly,subtly,slip away and the gallant trees clothing begins to show signs of an impending change.The days will once again grow shorter,colder,and will usher in once again,the time of testing.Southern whispers will give way to northern roars and the wait starts over again.What say ye Pine Log?Is it worth it?As you,Pine Log,I will observe the changes as they come and go.I will marvel,I will stand in awe,I will rejoice, I will weep.I will observe and be thankful for the treasure that comes with each one,and I will acknowledge that it has been worth it.What say ye?from Pine LOG.

The Acknowledgement

Against our will we are pushed,pulled,compelled to keep moving towards the great expanse.Responsibilities await,constantly before us,invoking us.Our fellow sojourners hold us in contempt if we dare slow them down for even a second.Keep moving,keep running,get out of my way.Time becomes a harsh taskmaster as we rationalize how to wring all we can out of precious seconds,moments,days,weeks,months,and finally years.All too soon the years begin  to show signs of diminishing.To offset the somberness of this inevitable process we must,must allow ourselves to be taken to a very special place where magical moments are extracted.Stand on an ancient mountainside and be captivated by the sea of white below you at the peak of the dogwoods glory.Drink from the well of a dew laden crab apple tree burgeoning with spring blooms,casting off an indescribable,refreshing,renewing fragrance .Be captivated by the spring concert going on above you,obviously in a new and different key than in January or February.Marvel at the grace and symmetry of the tree line silhouetted against the new,crisp,spring skyline.Absorb the primal feeling,surely akin to the one felt in the first man's glorious edenic spring.Respect and revere the power of what is going on all around you.Now,in that magical,extracted moment,make an honest,uncoerced acknowledgement to the one who said "Let there be light" to begin man's first spring long ago.The magic that will follow as the acknowledgement is reciprocated,is sustaining,life giving,eternal. Acknowledgement is faith,and faith is the only thing asked of us.The resulting magic  is something to be carried along with us to the end of the journey and beyond.Acknowledging and enjoying the peace and joy of a holy reciprocation on Pine Log.

The holy place

In the eternal second of a blazing sunrise,in the crisp early morning air,observed from the slopes of the ancient mountain.In the poignant,thoughtful,graceful sinking of the same sun that rose in a blaze of glory,just a second ago,setting on another day that cannot be retrieved,save by highlighted memories.In the ease and grace of an eagle gliding across the heavens,fearlessly,effortlessly,with a freedom one can only dream of.In the appearing of the bluebells in early april,responding to the call ,after enduring the icebox of winter,gracing the earth,comforting all who observe and revere.In the face of a newborn babe.The miracle of birth.The joy and the tragedy of birth.Another soul,another journey,a mysterious plan.In the up stretched arms of the weary soul,blue,yellow,from efforts to help,body betraying her,still reaching,still hoping,still believing.Grace in time of need.In the recalling of words,spoken many years ago,yet still giving comfort."I go to prepare a place for you."Prepared not with hammer and nail,but with the ultimate sacrifice.The place.The holy place.Where God is acknowledged.Where there is no doubt.Time is forgotten.Where God and man are reconciled.

The greeter

The  young boy walked up to the steps of the modest porch that was attached to a modest dwelling.He anticipated a greeting from the larger than life woman he called his grandmother.Instead,his greeting came from a modest container,purposely and perfectly placed,in the corner of the tiny porch,by the screen door.The fragrant greeting coming from the plants inside the container was something the young boy would remember and write about fifty years later.He would always wonder and marvel at the joy he got from that special greeting that day.He still recalls  her look of satisfaction as he commented on the greeting she had arranged for him."Those are my petunias," she said.Looking back he can can still remember a look that said,"now you know the secret." Take it with you and don,t out grow it.The young boy is fifty eight now.Every spring he is reminded of that special greeting,as he plants petunias for his daughter,all around the yard and porch.They are strategically placed,to be a greeter for her and those who would go through her door.Hopefully someday that will be of great comfort to her and that memory will take her to a special place.It has been for me.For I was once that young boy.Oh! The power of a memory!