Slowing down to see tiny green plants on the path … little stones, little sticks, random, remnant seeds from blooms long past and tiny flowers that remain join in with the tiny green plants.

The trail is deeply grooved and filled with long grasses that wet my shoes and darken my pant legs.

Oliver finds tales of beaver, muskrat, birds and mice with his nose. Any particularly delicious find sends his tail into high frequency signaling.

As we walk along Johnson creek something in me finds deeper stillness, the stillness, a canvas for the Word, creating and recreating.

Vividly, quietly, richly alive and breathing, this creek draws me back to the illuminated life flowing from stillness.