I am sheltered under tall trees, enveloped by the gentle sloping hills and trails, cooled by gently trickling creeks ‘neath shady groves, warmed in the sunlit meadows — my outstretched hands grazing the tops of the tall grasses as I walk barefoot through The Land, My Land.
Though I have walked many miles upon His resplendent terrestrial sphere, it is to this small spot of hidden woodlands that I have long pledged my fealty.
Not to a flag, or nation, but this obscure plot of rural lakeland. What I now stand upon, is what I stand for. This land, this sweet land, this good earth.
I walk long, my stomach filled by the work of many hands — my kinsmen and beloved ones — who now rest in repose. But I, of restless mind, must retire myself to me, to think and ponder and wonder and wander.
Soon I am far away, in a goodly corner, where the land rises and falls in quick succession — and the water rumbles tumbling over itself in eager haste. Warmed by the heat of the day (and by the thoughts within), I loose my shirt and remove my sandals. My long legs dangle into the water below, and come to rest on a large smooth stone.
Leaning back, interlocked fingers behind my head, I gaze up into the deep blue beautiful.
It is a perfect day to be alive, and I can only sing of my great thankfulness. My voice rising upward, lost in silence before it reaches the few swirling serried-edge clouds above.
But I sing and sing and sing, and praise Him from who all blessings flow.