Sermonstudio

I have a place I think of when I meditate. I'm on the pier at the cottage where we spent many summer vacations over the course of nearly 25 years. I am lying on my stomach on the warm wood and the water beneath the pier is sloshing gently, the sound reverberating in the wood. If I look down between the planks, I can see a school of minnows swim past, then reverse direction suddenly and swim just as fast in the opposite direction. A spider is weaving its intricate web between one of the planks and the support post. Turning my head a bit, I see the leaves on the big aspen flutter, silvery, in the breeze. A hummingbird is poised before the feeder that hangs in the tree. It moves forward an inch or two, sips, and darts off. Suddenly, the quiet is broken by the chatter of a mother mallard as she leads her brood past the pier and into the patches of purple iris growing along the shore. I smile as I observe the downy babies upend themselves as they dive for water bugs or perhaps young shoots. In a few moments, the mother duck rounds them up and leads her little parade farther down the shore. Now the sun is high. The birds are still. Nature is silent, waiting. I wait, too, feeling God's peace.