It is spring, and I return to the woods. To the stillness of nature and the silence of my heart. To the quiet of a creek, placid in the wake of the weekend’s storms, but nonetheless bearing the marks of the power contained in them.


I sit on a fallen tree above the sandy creek bank, losing myself in the mesmerising flow of water through the narrows.

And then a breath of wind sends hundreds of maple helicopters spiraling through the air, a rain of twirling, twinkling seed pods that dance like butterflies to the surface of the rapids, there to ride the swells to a new home. And I marvel at this renewed proof that God exists, however far away he may sometimes seem. I embrace God who created such a complex world, uniquely suited to its environs, and capable of adapting over generations, centuries, millenia. By what mechanism does one generation of maple seed suddenly begin to develop the long wispy tail that carries it away from its parent? What force acts upon a colony of animals trapped underground, allowing them to develop luminescence? It’s miraculous, I tell you. Miraculous. And if you can sit before the vastness of creation and deny the existence of God, then all I can say is: Sit a while, here in the quiet, away from the world, and prepare to find your soul awakened.

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