I think the land prays

Photo by Ariana Salvo. May not be reproduced without permission.

Today was day three of leaf-raking at the home of a friend who has a good-sized property in Granite Bay. I left early to beat the traffic, coming out to find the car completely covered in a thick layer of frost and the entire city immersed in a heavy fog that enveloped everything and made me feel like I was driving through the scene from a detective novel. I got on the highway, joining the rush of traffic headed east, the fog still hovering close around me, making everything except what was immediately in front of me invisible. I drove a good portion of the way to Granite Bay in the fog, but then all of a sudden the road must have reached a higher elevation, because I came around a corner and in front of me the sky was clear and the sun was a crisp round warm pineapple yellow ball in the sky. It was so perfect, so low on the horizon and so easy to look at that my initial response was surprise that the moon was still so low on the horizon. The sun looked like a harvest moon, full and warm like a ripe peach growing riper by the minute. It took my breath away.

I arrived at my destination, pulled on my rubber boots and headed out to the fruit orchard for my rake and tarp. Every blade of grass was encased in ice, and as I headed up over the hill the sun broke across the neighbour's fence and slanted across the orchard, catching the frosted landscape at just the right angle to make everything appear to be radiating a soft, brilliant light. It was breathtakingly beautiful--the kind of view that I just *know* is a little gift from above -- the Big Boss upstairs was smiling down on me this morning (wonder what I did to deserve that?! ;-))

The frost slowly faded as I worked, but the beauty of how I began my day has stayed with me all day long. Fortunately I took my camera with me today, and was smart enough to stop and allow the shutter to clatter closed around the image of light hitting frost, so I wanted to share it with you here.

One of my favourite things is to sit with someone I love and hear/see them pray. It is like I am witnessing them at their most tender, vulnerable, honest and most beautiful because their soul is in conversation with its Creator. I think the land also prays sometimes--reflecting the perfection and beauty of its Creator in moments like I witnessed this morning, when it thinks nobody is watching. What do you think? ;-)