At the day’s end here in Michigan I find myself looking at the light in the trees. We have big evergreens here. In this part of Michigan due to the presence of a premier horticultural college and faculty who might take a few seeds home with them we have an amazing variety of pines, spruces and a range of other evergreens. And in the fading light of a summer evening each of these sylvan giants at their center under green draping boughs becomes a cathedral. At the day’s end here in Michigan I find myself looking at the light in the trees. We have big evergreens here. In this part of Michigan due to the presence of a premier horticultural college and faculty who might take a few seeds home with them we have an amazing variety of pines, spruces and a range of other evergreens. And in the fading light of a summer evening each of these sylvan giants at their center under green draping boughs becomes a cathedral.
At the day’s end here in Michigan I find myself looking at the light in the trees. We have big evergreens here. In this part of Michigan due to the presence of a premier horticultural college and faculty who might take a few seeds home with them we have an amazing variety of pines, spruces and a range of other evergreens. And in the fading light of a summer evening each of these sylvan giants at their center under green draping boughs becomes a cathedral.
The shadows grow long and the space beneath the branches grows dense and thick. But the way the limbs hang it is almost like you are looking through a cathedral window. As I look at the green boughs hanging down the pointy drooping needles follow erratic but contemplated patterns like green lead in a stained glass window. The colors of the panes are all various shades of green but they paint a picture of a verdant God, a God of nature. Peering deep into towards the center where the trunk is you seen the wind bring motion to the supple trees forms and it is as if the Holy Ghost was inhabiting this place.
When I was child I dreaded the fading rays of light. In summer it meant it was nearly 9 p.m. and all play would have to end and I would have to slow my frenetic motions. (Truth be told if I view life as a day I dread what comes next because my clock is well past 8 p.m.) Here on the western edge of the time zone I appreciate the hours I am given. I get home from work at 6 p m. Dinner is prepped, eaten and the residue and pans are dispatched to their appointed place by 7:30 or 7:45. And then the time is mine.
In those two hours of light I am free to walk, to write, to talk, to melt and to be me. Often I find myself watching trashy TV but when that happens I grow angry with myself because it is a theft of good light. If I walk away from the glowing plasma I am walking toward green cathedrals. If I leave a teleplay in mid telling I am joining the real unending world. Two hours for a few months a year are refuge and church. Two hours a day from mid-May through late July are a psalm book of life’s value, or of our interconnectedness with nature.
As I lay me down to sleep I will think of the green cathedrals that I peered into several hours before. As I lay me down to sleep I will sing the hymns I have treasured in this world.
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