All I hear is silence broken by bird song and my footsteps. Trees touching the blue sky and occasional cloud. The song notes of the birds: have I ever heard them before? Or have I simply never listened as I did today? Have colors changed? Is the sky more blue and the trees and plants different shades of green? I will never know.

I want to run over every hill I can see. Bees remove  honey from random yellow flowers. Tiny flowers burst out of the earth next to tall grass and rocks. Did I catch a glimpse of a ladybug? Flies buzz in clusters off in the distance. There is no sense of time here. Seconds..hours..minutes pass unnoticed. A gentle breeze is soft as my breath. I feel if a strong wind arose I would spread my arms and be carried over the hills and trees with the birds.

Old and new growth are woven together. The sun warms my skin but not to burn. Nothing man-made is here. The vision I see could not be captured by anything other than my eyes. The horizon changes with the breeze and the hazy clouds. As I wander the ground beneath my shoes changes to packed dirt and rocks. Yet in the center a small plant grows, a sign of vitality practiced for centuries. The dirt softens the intrusion of my footsteps. Around me prickly plants grow waist high providing shelter to softer green leaves within. The birds never stop singing. Are they praising their Creator? Perhaps they are telling each other of the wonders they see as they fly? Tall pine trees are stretching, reaching, with trunks too large to be encompassed by my arms. What have they experienced in all their years? Storms, fires, rebirth… Unless something dies nothing beautiful will grow.

I almost feel as if I don’t belong. I have glimpsed creation at a different time or place than ever before. What does that mean? I know God walks here but His steps are silent. How must the original creation have appeared to the eyes of God? To Adam? To Eve?  To the birds and animals as well? I will never understand fully until God’s original creation is restored.

The air smells clean. In the midst of dead plants new life is growing. I want to reach out and grasp a pine cone or a flower to take with me when I leave. The newness will fade. The flower will crumble wither and die. I can only bring the memories in my heart. Will I remember them tomorrow? Already they are drifting away, swallowed up by the sounds of the city below. My time of wonder is….gone.

My words are not enough to bring you with me.