hiking2christ

A few moments later the day is done, and all is changed to dull gray. Fainter, fainter grows the twilight….The brownest trunks lose their color….How solemn the hush, the rest! Not a squirrel note now. Every one is at home motionless, sleeping in a rolled ball, all his lightning filled limbs wrapt about with his tail for warmth. The dew is falling. The violets and daisies are drinking. Not a breath stirs the innumerable plumes of fir. Go out in the latest twilight on the mead and see even the airy panicles of Agrostis scarce moving. Yet the heart of Nature is still beating.

-John of the Mountains – Pg. 212

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