Trees of God

My lover and I were on a search.   We were hiking up what could best be described as a ravine, a cavernous cut in the side of a mountain deep in the Appalachians. It was a cold morning made colder because the sun couldn't find a way into this deep hollow.  We were searching for an old altar we had built to thank God for our retirement.  This fall, the colors have been brilliant, and it felt like we were hiking in a cathedral surrounded by stained glass of divine color.  At one point, we sat on a large boulder, weary from making a trail only we had trod.  I looked at the glowing canopy above and told my lover, “These trees are holy Christ worshipers, doing exactly what he made them to do and doing it to the best of their abilities.  They are putting on fall colors to the glory of their maker, God.”  They were such an encouragement to us to live as God has ordained us to live.  We rose carefully, a new habit born of age, and continued our slow hike up the ravine.  We found the altar, repaired it, and set our renewed eyes toward home and Fair Haven.  

The Altar as we found it and our repair below.