Light In The Trees.

Had a chance encounter with my amiable neighbor one April morning as he returned from his morning walk while I rescued our newspaper from the ditch.  We soon were chatting about one of my favorite backyard scenes.

Newspaper securely in hand, I led him toward a spot on my property where the yard fell away toward a small lake – more a decent-sized pond.   By this time, spring had grown somewhat long in the tooth, .  My favorite dogwood tree was now weeks past its glory and not easily picked out among its new-green neighbors. 

In autumn, I told him, that dogwood leaps into view, its leaves painted in crimson delight.  Its reflection shimmering on the pond’s surface reminds me of Monet.  Had I the talent to do so, I would rush for my brushes and capture the impression so completely, so memorably, that art students would be discussing the work’s fragile beauty a hundred autumns hence. 

It was impossible to adequately describe the lingering image to my neighbor -- that glowing tree, set against the deep hue of the pond as shafts of sunlight illuminated the early morning mist rising from the lake.   I like to think that’s how it may have been in the first days of this world as God set about creating it and found the words to describe his work for all eternity:

“Let there be light!” he said.   And there was … and God saw that the light was good.
I get that.  Maybe not all of it, but enough to have gotten my morning (and perhaps
​my neighbor’s morning) off to a good start.  
​
And that is good. 

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