The Woods Sing Vespers
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“Oh, now,” whispered the trees, as the billowy day began to fold herself into the night, “We come to sing our praises for the creation of the light.”
Imagine that moment, when light was born. Imagine an absolute silence, a timeless emptiness where nothing existed, nothing at all, not even the breath of God.
And then, in one enormous flash, suddenly light appeared, with the stuff to make whole worlds riding in its waves.
Imagine it, containing in its brilliance all potentials, all dimensions and the laws that would govern their dance.
Imagine the light traveling so far and so long and so wondrously that it made trees that would stand on a snowy hill as a January day folded into night, lifting their branches in praise.
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