I was thanking the trees for standing in the way of my niece, stopping her spinning car from the cliff, dodging her broadside and steadfastedly halting her–yet allowing her to stay on the planet.

“That’s what we’re here for,” they said.  “To stand by, line the roads, mark the edges, shade and support you.  We have made a pact, you and I, to work this land, massage the earth, dance with Gaia.  Moving or dust, leaves clapping or bare times, like a concert.  With a beginning, middle, bridges, interludes and an ending.”

We are early enough today to spy the swallows on their last swooping dive across the broad field.  Big fat seagulls strut through the soccer field, pumping out their white policeman chests as they made their patrols.  Late season frogs belch out deep tuba notes for the wet gray morning.  Serenade to a fallen season.

Forest bed disheveled with white underside leave sheets rumpled and brown traces of scattered summer color.  Paths crisscross the clearing all calling to me. 

All paths lead to You, all sidewalks built on Your shoulders, all scouting trips inspired by You, all adventures conspired with You.  All sorrows held by You.  All fears comforted with Your smile, caressed with Your infinite Presence.