After the Rains

Our windows need washing, but I have the perfect excuse. It's been raining for 4 days and nobody washes windows in the rain. Besides providing excuses for all sorts of things, rainy nights are great for fires in the fireplace and popcorn with good movies. In the long range forecast, there was one sunny day, and it was today. Somehow, there wasn't time to wash the windows. Instead, I laced up my waterproof hiking boots and headed down to the hollow.

The GPS would designate this as the same location I've hiked on many occasions, but to my eyes and ears this morning, it seemed a very different place. The path was soggy underfoot, and before I reached the bottom, I could hear a chorus of streams.

Last year's flood altered this valley into an extension of the lake. When the water receded, things had changed. Where in former years one wet-weather creek flowed, 3 smaller, parallel streams now do summersaults over rocks and cut trenches in the sand. After wading across the streams this morning, I followed a deer trail north through a blanket of new green to see the dry creek bed I hiked in a couple of weeks ago. In its place, a small river now cuts through the valley. Some things are always changing.

With a boulder for an easy chair, I sat down and watched the churning water. Small waterfalls and eddies danced feverishly, catching the light in an ever changing display. Farther down, the stream slowed, exhausted by its exertion.

The hands on my watch moved quickly in the hollow. A gnawing stomach reminded me that it was time for breakfast. I got up reluctantly and made my way back. Rue anemone and toothwort littered the uphill path.

Back home, we watched a wild turkey gobbler dance slowly, the iridescent light shining off his feathers. So far, the hen is unimpressed. Some things never change.

Wet Weather Creek

It's been a rainy week, 

culminating last night in lightning and bowling ball thunder, 

and rivers of rain rolling from the sky.

In the middle of the night, I reached down to the side of the bed, 

and sure enough, there was Barley, tucked close, in his place of shelter,

This morning we walked to the hollow, and before we were half way down,

 we could hear the sound of water.  

Trickles along the path flowed into small streams and waterfalls, 

dripping off mossy rocks, and singing as they went.  

They gathered in the bottom for a chorus of praise.

In a calm pool in the bend of the creek, 

Barley lowered himself slowly into the chilly water and took a drink.

Rue Amemone

On the way back, we passed wildflowers, those jewels of the woods, 

rue anemone, wild sweet William, violet wood sorrel.

Violet Wood Sorrel

All of this is fleeting--the wet weather creek, the fading flowers--

even Barley's shelter in the storm.

  

But today I'm grateful for something permanent--

the shelter that is always available in Jesus, 

and His living water, that never fails to flow.

For He will conceal me in His shelter in the day of adversity;

He will hide me under the cover of His tent;

He will set me high on a rock.

Psalm 27:5

Whoever is thirsty, let him come;

and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.

Revelation 22:17