Darkness covered the morning on this early Saturday. We left the warmth of our home and set out to meet the hunting crew. The roads and mountains, finally open after the long months of closure due to the brash of forest fires.
The destination. One of our most favorite spots. One of tall timber, steep mountain faces and an abundance of mulch from years of growth and the cleaning of trees that comes with each season.
The extra quiet morning brought an awareness of noise within the forest. The chirping of the birds. The scurrying of the chipmunks. Errant patches of snow held promise for winter weather. The fresh moisture in the air and the coating of the vegetation from the recent rain soaked these undeterred hunters. The fog, settling amongst the trees, hindering visibility in its usual patchiness.
Being in the high mountains sings to my soul and brings thoughts of reflection and spiritualness. The debris that covers the forest floor reminds me of the cleaning of our souls. The tree, standing so erect and true has no use for the occasional dead needles and branches. As this shedding of these living trees gives way to a healthier tree so it is with our own baggage that is so desperately unnecessary to tote. But as the debris lands on the ground, over time it becomes mulch for that tree, so our own sordidness gives us a mulch to grow and stand tall in Christ if we chose to let Him use it. Further, the process can lend itself as fertilizer that can be used to help others.
So while the day was about the heart of the hunted, I love it when the clean, fresh mountain air acts as a filter for feelings that arise. The stillness of these high mountain places works as a healing salve on the deep crevices of my sorrow.
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