crunch, crunch, crunch
flip-flap, flip-flap
scrush, scrush, scrush


Even with my ears muffled against the sudden fall chill, I can hear the quiet cadence of my feet as they plod along on different surfaces on this still night.

The pond is still as I jog by.  So still that not only are the outlines of the darkened mountains clearly outlined, but a few stars are even clearly reflected, and - yes - for a moment, there's the moon's reflection, barely seen above the reflected horizon.

The milky way keeps me company overhead.  It's a dark night and the moon is failing, but the stars provide enough ambient lighting for me to keep my equilibrium.

As I run on the path through the field, the moon waves to me through the trees.  We encourage each other to continue on our respective races.  In the distance the trees already look like the naked skeletons they will soon become.  It's a night that promises autumn.  Time is also racing.

I pause to bid the moon farewell as it begins to descend behind some distant hills.  Soon the crescent looks like a triangle, and the triangle fades until it resembles a candle on a far hill.  A moment more and the candle is snuffed - but an ember still burns!  And then that too is gone, and the stars hold full sway over the night sky.  

Montana's Song

Tonight the road roamed under a night sky splendid with stars.  The milky way shone with an icy brilliance as satellites silently traced their paths across the sky.  The grass lent its scent to the night air, giving it an earthy aroma.  The pines silhouetted against the starry sky added spice to the air. 

The road meandered by a small river and listened in as that swollen stream whispered its secret sorrows to the shore in the still places and roared out its joy at being a river in the rapids.

The road was joined by a brook, babbling as it made its way to the river, passing on the gossip from the icy springs and melting snows further up the mountain. 

A nearby campfire burned with joyful abandon, lighting up the trees and fields nearby in the excess of its exuberance.  The crack of the wood being chopped to give the flames life punctuated the river's monologue. 

Creation sings the Father's song.

Hallelujah! Let all creation stand and sing,

"Hallelujah!" Fill the earth with songs of worship;

Tell the wonders of creation's King.

Night Travel

It was midnight when we pulled away from the dock of Patmos.  The moon had risen and was playing hide-and-seek with its watery twin behind intermittent clouds.  The water was like glass and the lights from the town and monastery sparkled on the water as we slid out into the night. 

The wind was but a breath that filled our nostrils with the smells of sea and land, fresh and clean.   The sea and sky were shades of slivery grey, merging into a blurred line of mist, half water, half air, barely discernable.

As we neared the mouth of the bay we altered course, heading directly up the moonbeam, sailing into the moonrise. 

As we rounded the island, lightening flashed in the difference, warning of inclement weather ahead. 

Harnessed and clipped onto the new bowsprit I watched the night slide by until my eyelids grew too heavy and I headed to my narrow bunk to sleep for a while.