I sit on the footbridge over the brook feeding into Piglet Pond. The water percolates under me, swirls around my boots, and gurgles on its way to the pond, there joining, mixing, uniting into something other than “brook” before some indistinguishable part breaks into the overflow and tumbles madly down the bank, throws itself over a rock ledge and splashes wildly into Briar Creek.
This is the sound of April on my side of the mountain. At last count I have 695 water photos and about 25 two-minute videos of every way that water finds its way from mountaintop to creek. Dear friends, I have no idea why I have been doing this, except to say that my spirit has somehow attached itself this month to the “voice of God upon the waters.”
I delight in sharing this awareness of the Holy via the sense of sound with Amaya and Liam, who, at six and eight somehow emerged from the cocoon of winter as passionate woods-walkers. We locate a runlet and follow it, sloshing through the mud up the hill, or to where the water may disappear underground. We stand in silence and listen to God’s music, to ripple, trickle, bubble, splash, gush, shoot, swash and pounding fall. Then off we traipse across the side of the hill where in a few minutes we come to another waterway.
So, here I am listening, listening, but I cannot tell you what it is that God is saying. It is spirit talk, full of mystery and wonder, simultaneously awash with joy and sorrow.
I want clarity. I want a way. I want truth as exact science. I want to know what I cannot know. I want answers. I want a miracle. Majestic Glory gives me water music and my thirsty soul drinks.