Ah, the stars. Scattered through navy sky like celestial apple blossoms in spring; profuse, pristine, near tangible. Ah, the dark. Night unshattered by a city light, shadows pooled twixt lake and gathered pines. And us, huddled on the shore, mountains piled beneath the stars, air crisp. Mom and I crept out just after dusk to climb up to the reservoir just above our lodge. We felt free and kindled. To be out at night, to possess an unpeopled stillness is to touch something that transcends the dustiness of mundane life. It is the sort of experience that becomes a part of your breath and thought and sense. I feel that I live much of my life as a spectator, passing through scenes and days without engagement of my self. Nights like these reach out to me and reconnect my eyes, my heart, my breath to the present.
It is easy to love God with such a sight before you. We trudged through shadows, almost blind and felt the near hush of pines with their woven darkness. There is such incomprehensibility in a skyful of stars, so much dread and exhilaration in the looming dark of mountains. To believe in Creator God then is only just. I think he meant it to be that way. Sometimes I feel that the nagging sense of his absence with which I so wrestle is due to how separate I feel from an unfettered view of his creation. He is so near, so visible. But it takes a willful seeking out of his wildness to see it. I felt him so real tonight.