A winding path makes its way through the dense forest, smelling of musty soil and age-old pine; the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the occasional deciduous intermingled with the conifers, bringing the scent of spring freshness. The dusky sky deepens into midnight splendor; moonlight filtering through intermittent gaps in the canopy above, and shining along the worn path trodden by so many pairs of feet before. Such an ancient cathedral tucked away in God’s natural beauty. So old, yet so new with the lushness of the spring months. A real living painting by the Creator; seemingly untouched by human hands, and therefore precious and deserving of respect.
Not all is as still as it first appears; a whip-poor-will calls from some hidden place in the sanctuary of the dense forest. Crickets cease their song as a human approaches, and begin again moments after they have passed. A croak of a frog, and the almost-eerie sounding call of a screech owl. Yet, in some unexplainable way, the forest remains a silent mystery of sorts; a place for whispers and silent talks with God.
And in the morning, the moonlight is exchanged for the pale rays of sunlight streaming down through the painting, shining on the dew drops which gleam and dance. The scent is now of warm earth and lush vegetation. The creatures of the night have ceased their ensemble for another day, replaced with the singing passerines of the daytime, and shrink back into the mystery of the nights.
This is peaceful in every sense of the word. This is where I come to be closer to God. This cathedral in the forest.