Listening to the voice of a place…

 Fred First has a piece up this morning that really speaks to those of us who listen to the voice of those sacred places we discover in life. The photo he posted with the story almost brings the voice of Nameless Creek to life. I can imagine the fireflies beginning to flash their welcome to the night as dusk grows heavy on the summer eve. The stars competing for attention as the fireflies rise toward the tops of the trees above. Yes, this is a sacred place to sit the day down…

The pine tree beside the lawn chairs–that we could never bring ourselves to put back in the barn–was only head high when we saw it there on our first walk down this way. Things are different now. And things there are just the way they’ve been since the first settlers found this valley in the early 1800s. The seclusion and peace is unchanged since both Confederate and Union deserters took refuge in this wonderfully-forsaken place. It is the same as yesterday, even on days we don’t go there.
The Christmas ferns grow ever-green along the banks. The squirrels chatter from the tops of White Pines, shedding fragments of their morning meal like crumbs from the table. The creek sings whether we are there to listen or not.

I can understand the call such a place has on a person because in my life there have been a number of these sacred places that have called me back to them over and over. Unlike Fred, all of these places I have owned only in my mind. Someday soon I hope to own my own place to become part of, to grow into.

Thanks Fred, some mornings become sacred because of the friends you visit with even when you travel no further than your computer…

Source: Morning Comes to Nameless Creek

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