Pastor Jim Jackson

Richmond Hill Presbyterian Church

The sun begins its early journey, spreading translucent over a canopy of green.

Fog begins its journey up the hollow, kissing plants and animals with profound freshness of a new day.

Pleasant aromas exhale the blessing of their fresh morning breath, infusing a warmth native to the luxuriant fauna.

Byrd Creek continues its rumbling exit down the mountain to its eventual oblivion in the Gulf of Mexico.

Wild flowers of the myriad spectrum of color peek out of their abode, smiling upon all whose eyes embrace.

Maples, oaks, walnuts, locusts and all their kin stretch upward toward the blue heavens, making happy abodes for worms, squirrels, feathered friends and more.

Exposed boulders of earth’s ancient eons stand as motionless sentinels, reminding all anthropoids of their fragile brevity on earth.

Shy deer and the occasional bear make their way out of nocturnal rest, descending the mountain to the clear, cook creek for draughts of invigoration.

All the while, I sit barefooted, rocking on the porch, stout coffee cascading down my throat, wondering why it took me so long to get here.