We've been driving through the mountains, Lord-
winding our way in an air-conditioned car up the narrow road
cutting through the towering oaks and maples,
pines and tulip trees.
The mountain laurel and sassafras sprouts are at eye level as we drive along
and I know the fragrance is heavenly
mixed with the musky smells of mosses and rich earth.
Why was I so timid, then, Lord,
when I suggested we roll down all the windows?
Why was I so easily silenced
when someone said the wind would mess up our hair?
Now, I know we will return to the flat plains with our hair intact,
but not our spirits.
The mountain trails were beautiful to behold,
but You gave us at least five senses
as avenues to transport food to our souls,
and we settled for using only sight.
We could have filled our nostrils with fresh mountain air
fragrant with a hundred rare perfumes.
We could have heard the leathery rhythm band
of colliding oak leaves accompanying
the song of a thousand birds.
We could have felt the wind in our hair, caressing our faces.
We could have stopped
and touched the shagbark hickories
and the smooth beeches.
We could have pulled up a small sassafras seedling
and nibbled on a sliver of root.
We could have peeked under a tulip leaf
to find the lovely yellow and orange blossom
so rare to huge trees.
We might have stopped at one of the pull-off places
and leaned over a cliff to see the valley below
and beheld vistas that would have taken our breath away.
But at least, Lord, we didn't sweat
and our hair didn't get messed up.
