August 25, 2015 10:15 am
In August, a spontaneous trip to Maine found my son and me lodging at the edge of a lush salt marsh. Grass and reeds had ripened to their late summer saffron color tipped with the grey-brown decay of fall. High tide filled the curved channels that wound through the salt marsh reflecting heavy rain clouds. Fog hung within arm’s reach, smelling of salt, sea, and rich rotting vegetation.
Grateful to be alive, to exhale Atlantic Ocean air from the porch of a modest cabin, I lingered over coffee as my son slept. How many others reflected wonderous over the beauty of the world and our passing place in it. I imagined pilgrims hundreds of year ago on such a misty morning rejoicing for God’s creation of salt and color. Further back in time, indigenous peoples shared similar awe for their creator. Perhaps each piece of the scene had its own spirit. I would thank Mother Ocean and Father Grass.
And this coffee-sipping atheist? Gods are less miraculous than chance. I have no soul, or spirit; I am as ephemeral as a flower bursting forth in a quick spring. All I can do is appreciate, and perhaps write for the next reflective soul to find.