Yesterday I heard something I’ve never heard before except in nature documentaries – an avalanche. There was a crack, a rushing sound with snapping – it was short – then there was silence. I could tell from the direction the sound came that it was in a canyon on the other side of a ridge, so I didn’t fear for our safety.
I certainly wasn’t on edge like I was on the previous day when Ruby, our dog, instead of bounding off into the trees like she normally does when we’re hiking, “dogged our heels” the entire time. I watched her, noticing her ears pinned back flat to her head, a position I’d never seen on her before. Before we reached our destination, I decided I trusted her nose for predators more than my eyes and we headed back. The avalanche, curiously, didn’t spook her.
Humans tend to think we have such power, with our technology, sending people into space because we can, bombing cities on the other side of the world, also, because we can. We order food, books, cars, vacations, etc., with a click of a button, and have much of our lives delivered to our door. There are daily reminders here at Tall Timber of how infinitesimally small we humans are.
Best we heed these reminders with the grace, humility, gratitude and awe most becoming of beings who, while having creative gifts, are merely creatures, and not the Creator.