Linnet's Wing

         From the moment I stepped out of the oversized sardine can that tried to pass itself off as a van, I knew I should expect an awesome week.  Between the fresh air, cool nights, and group of others my own age, I welcomed the week-long Bible camp experience with open arms.  Even in those days of summer ’98, my separation from my religious upbringing was well under way, but the start of an entirely different spiritual experience began here.
         I went for short hikes, alone, during what little free time they gave us, but those one or two hours each day offered more than enough opportunity for me to explore.  I found a cool, refreshing mountain spring with sweeter water than any found in a bottle, despite what the labels might claim.  Among my favorite pastimes during these periods of relaxation and personal meditation included lying on the soft undergrowth and allowing the sounds of the forest to fill me.
         During one such meditative moment, I glanced up to find a fawn not more than ten feet away.  Afraid of scaring it off, I laid there, unmoving, for fifteen or twenty minutes, just watching it as it walked about, ever-alert, yet curious as myself of Mother Nature’s sights.  Some noise, or perhaps an unseen parent probably gave it warning, since it suddenly bolted from sight and disappeared within moments.
         Down by the river, an astro-turf-covered raft floated lazily, serving as a dock for the canoes, eager swimmers, or a bug-eyed frog who made staring me down one cool Wednesday morning its sole goal in life.  The little critter won.  This makeshift dock served as my seat on most mornings immediately after breakfast.  I would gaze over the water at the rock wall opposite the river to admire the peaceful beauty of nature at rest.  After it rained, thousands of streamlets would spill continuously from the rock face into the river, splashing harmoniously and generating a myriad of eye-catching sparkles reflecting the early morning sun.
         When it came time to leave the following weekend, I nearly ran and hid.  The idea of doing so passed through my mind more than once, but my pragmatic side won over and I packed myself back into one of their sardine cans.  Since then, when I find my mind wandering, I often find myself back upon that forest floor, with the fawn just a few arm-breadths away or on my morning dock, enjoying the vision of my own little piece of Walden, with naught but a bug-eyed frog for company.  That is Heaven.