We started the journey together, him and me. I followed watching his man-child feet take careful steps picking his way through the rocks and the roots. Independent he walked ahead strong and sure. Behind him I carefully surveyed the landscape looking for dangers and pitfalls.
Taller and Smaller came after us sometimes holding hands sometimes side-by-side. Eventually they fell behind, our steps faster and longer.
Sun darted between branches creating a pattern of shadows to dance on the fallen leaves. We walked in hush listening to the trees sigh and shudder the melody of fall. On occasion he stopped and asked, “How much further?”
“Not much further. We’re getting close.”
Proud of new skills, he stopped to read every sign pleased he didn’t need help.
Sometimes the marked trail wasn’t obvious, and we hunted for a beaten path worn from those who came before.
On occasion we stopped to marvel at new wonders – a crooked tree, a narrow bridge tucked deep in the wood. And we breathed. The smell of trees, leaves, and God’s love.
Almost to the peak, the trees opened and provided a breathtaking view of the mountains. I wondered what it was like to be an explorer with an awe-inspiring scene around every corner. We heard it before we saw it. The rush of water thundering over rocks on its way down stream.
Finally, we found it. Water. Ever moving, winding its way down a slow lazy stream until it reached the edge and fell over the sides in a steady flow, mist floating all around. He was drawn to it, walking out on the bridge to just the right spot and rested his chin to watch. We waited there for Taller and Smaller to catch up and breathed in the water.
Constant – the water was. Living. Flowing down the mountainside, under my feet, and through my soul.
Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.” John 7:38 NIV
**Amicalola Falls Dawsonville, Georgia