Blog
Mass on the Banks of Inks Lake
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” we begin. I feel the Holy Ghost breathe through the quivering arms of the sycamore, whose foliage betrays the dawn of autumn. As a monarch butterfly dances through the falling leaves, the Gospel reading warns us: you know not the hour. I close my eyes and wonder: will I be ready if, today, death calls my name? The breeze gently draws my long, golden hair into its rhythm, as the Lord of the universe tugs on my heart to return.
Untethered as the Birds: Zip Lining in the Smoky Mountains
I feel giddy as they lead us higher, higher, higher into the sky, leaving the lush green trees that once surrounded us at our feet, and at the feet of the rugged blue peaks I now spot in the distance, shrouded in wisps of fog. The most biodiverse National Park in the United States, the Smoky Mountains smell of mist, clay, and clouds. I inhale the trees’ breath and relish the tingle of minuscule rain droplets that litter my skin, no longer fighting the inevitable merging of my once-clean body with Earth’s fingerprints.
A Stormy Night Upon The Porch
My dirty bare feet are curled beneath me on a mildly damp patio bench. The porch shelters me from the night storm, but exposes me just enough that my arms are sprinkled with water. In a nearby pond, a duet of rippling chirps is sung back and forth between two frogs. They are hidden by the blackened sky until it is split by purple lighting.
Swaddled in Color: A Walk Through the Rainforest Pyramid at Moody Gardens
We descend through a tunnel to the lower level of the pyramid, where we no longer see but glimpses of the white beams that hold up the glass sky. Ripples of light bounce from water onto the underbelly of the bridge we were just on. We walk through drapes of hanging moss that tickles my head, and I admire the vibrant orchids that have been carefully placed among them. We are swaddled in color: purple plumes and magenta foliage, yellow fans and peach-colored palm stalks, scattered throughout every shade of green in every possible shape. Long whistles, raspy trills, and the stuttering cry of loons are joined by the sound of rushing water, and something like the croak of a frog—or perhaps a monkey. Was that an elephant I just heard? The jungle plays tricks on my ears, and holds its secrets from me.
Chasing Ghosts on Skyline Drive to Shenandoah National Park
I drive alone on black roads coiling like a snake ‘round misty blue mountains, rendered flat by haze, with nothing and no one for company but the blissful expanse of nature. I emerge from my parked vessel to stand in the middle of it and stare down a long, echoing tunnel that splits the cliff, tempting fate as the tremendous roar of an oncoming car reaches my ears. As I sprint to safety, the sound fades into the distant calls of crows and miniature waterfalls trickling down the mountain’s face.