Good morning,
It’s Sunday, and the bell buoy is ringing out across the water.
She is calling to her congregation, and we have come.
A light snow keeps trying to turn to rain, but a cluster of spruce trees has graciously offered to share its umbrella with us.
Together, we watch and listen.
“This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere;
the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling;
vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal
dawn and glowing, on sea and continues and islands, each
in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”—John Muir
Onwards,
Clara
