The Spiritual Journey

A couple of days ago, I longed for my camera as I walked down the woodland cemetery path. It lingers along the stream carved through the hillside center of the grounds.  The sunlight sparkled across the clear water, which rippled gently across the rocky creek bed.  The stream practically sang aloud.

The next day, an early-morning deluge had altered the entire scene.  The water, thick and murky, rushed down its channel; it was so much deeper than it had been only twenty-four hours earlier that only the slightest hint of rapids was visible.  Nothing called for a camera; it appeared, in fact, as if survival were at stake.