The photo accompanying this article shows a grey tree frog, one of six frog and toad species that use Lost Lake as a breeding site during the spring and summer.

While I believe it is a grey tree frog, I am not completely certain. It could potentially be a Cope’s grey tree frog, which is a distinct species but nearly impossible to differentiate from the grey tree frog by sight alone, even upon close examination.

You might be wondering, “How can you tell them apart if they look so much alike?” The answer lies in how they sound. Just like birds, male frogs and toads use vocalizations to attract female mating partners. Consequently, the grey tree frog can be distinguished from the similar-looking Cope’s grey tree frog by its unique call.

In light of our recent discussion about frog and toad calls, I want to share some information about the frog and toad survey conducted by volunteers of the Friends of Wisdom Prairie.

This initiative is part of a statewide citizen science project with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, and helps us understand the impacts of our land stewardship work at the monastery. From mid-March to mid-August, an acoustic recording device was used to monitor frog and toad calls at Lost Lake to identify the frog and toad species using the lake as a breeding location.

The monitor was programmed to record 10-minute sessions about 30 minutes before sunrise and 30 minutes after sunset each day, resulting in 307 separate audio files. Each file was reviewed using software that enabled us to listen to each file and identify frog and toad species calling in them.

During the spring and summer of 2026, six species of frogs and toads were identified using Lost Lake as a breeding site. In order of the frequency of their calls they were the green frog, the grey tree frog, the Cope’s grey tree frog, western chorus frog, northern leopard frog and the American toad.

Gathered over several years, this data can help us better understand the environmental conditions around Lost Lake.

In addition to recording frog and toad calls, our monitor also captured bird calls. While listening to the recordings, we used a mobile application to identify the birds by their calls and noted these findings.

Although it is beyond the primary scope of this article, it is interesting to note the recorded calls of gobbling wild turkeys, the hoots of adult great horned owls, and the begging screeches of their juveniles. We also noted many waterfowl feeding at Lost Lake, as well as songbirds nesting in the surrounding trees and prairie.

The post Frogs & toads of Lost Lake appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

When I write about prairies, I’m torn. Either I’m penning an elegy – prairies in Wisconsin are a mere hint of their pre-settlement vastness – or I’m composing an ode to a place that defies awe. To enter a prairie is to enter the past, a time when prairies covered the land. If you go deep enough in today’s prairie, you get a taste of a prairies’ long-ago grandeur. I suppose this writing is some combination. To appreciate a prairie’s beauty is also to mourn its loss.

The early morning air hangs heavy with mid-summer’s dampness under freighted clouds. All around me water beads glimmer like jewels on the prairie’s leaves. Some hold their shapes, like silver necklaces reflecting the somber sky. I pause, thankful for a cool breeze on damp skin. I feel my feet, soggy in dew-soaked shoes as I step off the path and plunge into a verdant jungle. The ground is sponge soft underfoot as I dive deep into prairie thicket. I’m on a restoration mission to cull an overpopulation of Indian Plantain. But I’m soon distracted, diverted from my work by the call of the prairie.

I’ve entered an ethereal world of mist and life and bathe in the intoxicating aromas of Wild Bergamot, Mountain Mint, Prairie Sage. I breathe the scent deep into my lungs, wanting to hold it all inside before returning my breath to the plants. With each step, tall grasses tickle my arms, soaking me with water laden leaves. The prairie hums and buzzes as bees move from flower to flower. I visualize myself from above, a tiny being swaddled green. In my mind I’m visiting some remote and ancient realm, far from civilization. And for a moment, I’m isolated…alone.

Soon, my aloneness gives way to solitude. I’m at peace and right where I should be – part of the natural world. Calmness flows through me as I shed the city’s burden. I savor the moment.

Then something changes.

I’m being watched.

I turn in a circle, seeking the observer. Not knowing why, my gaze moves to a nearby cup plant. I observe her brilliant yellow flowers floating high above. I follow the stem downward. There! Where leaf joins stem in a perfoliate embrace, I spy him. A grasshopper is perched near the tiny pool of water formed by leaf and stem. I suspect he had been enjoying a refreshing drink when he sensed my approach. He’s brilliant green with an onyx stripe. He shifts and studies me through silvery alien eyes. His segmented antenna twitch and he’s poised to jump. For a moment our eyes meet, for an instant we are joined. I lean in for a closer look, and he bounds away. The moment is gone.

I’m now deep inside the prairie’s living heart. Urban sounds, heretofore inescapable, have faded, soaked up by the foliage. I’ve become a tiny bee, flitting from flower to flower. I wind through the towering greenery and alight on an incandescent yellow bloom and sip dew’s cool moistness from her petals.

I return to myself just as a butterfly jitters by, close enough to hear her tiny wingbeats. I follow as she alights on a nearby flower. She senses my approach and flutters to another flower, creating space. I inch closer. Again, she moves on. I sense she’s rebuking me. This game of leapfrog continues and I’m about to give up. At last, she pauses to grant me an enduring look. I watch her uncurl her proboscis to draw at length of the flower’s sweet nectar. Her wings close tightly like a silver leaf. I’ve overstayed my welcome and turn to find my way back to the world.

To stand in the middle of a prairie today is to inhabit a small part of a time long past, remote from modern life. Though cordoned by roads and homes, a prairie remains today a world of its own, of myriad interconnected communities, each a microcosm of the whole. A tiny grasshopper drinks from a pool served in the clasping leaves of a cup plant. A butterfly sips nectar from a generous flower. Bees buzz from flower to flower, nourishing themselves, spreading life giving pollen, and keeping the prairie alive and worth saving.

The post Wisdom Prairie: Notes on prairies and connections appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

Submitted by Amy Alstad as an article to the May 29, 2026 issue of Weekly Wisdom.

Dear Holy Wisdom Community,

It is a real pleasure for me to feature Quinn Casey in this next installment of our ‘Community Joy’ series. Erin conceived these articles as a way to lift up what is good, true and joyful, as well as highlight community members whose contributions and connections to Holy Wisdom might not be visible to many. Quinn’s grandparents, Biby Gubler-Casey and Bob Smith, will be familiar to many in the Sunday Assembly community. For the past couple years, Quinn has been an integral member of the land care volunteer team. Because of her work schedule, she is primarily volunteering evenings and weekends. I am deeply grateful for her generous contributions of time and energy, and I hope you enjoy reading about her connection to this place.

Blue skies,

Amy

From Quinn, in her own words:

I come to Holy Wisdom weekly to work on the grounds, whether that be mowing trails in the prairie, tending to the memorial courtyard, weeding, mulching, planting, or whatever else is needed. I’ve been working in horticulture for a few years, so I have the honor of getting to drive the monastery tractor and use some of the other fun equipment to manage such an expansive and intricate area. I coordinate with the land management team but usually do my work on my own and use the time for prayer and contemplation. I’ve always felt that I connect with God most deeply when I’m working with the land. It’s a gift to have time to slow down and reflect. It makes me feel grateful for the world that I live in, for my ability to contribute to it, and witness the miracles of nature.

The first time I ever visited Holy Wisdom was for the celebration of life for my grandmother, Biby Gubler-Casey when I was thirteen. I remember the monastery being a place of solace for me, where I felt comfort while going through the tumult of my first experience with grief. We planted the serviceberries that still grow (albeit dilapidatedly) along the side of the monastery where we spread my grandmother’s ashes. Amy has agreed that we can replace these trees with something more suited to that side of the monastery someday, though I admire the perseverance of these skinny little serviceberries- growing through a harsh environment with the determination of my grandma!

My grandfather, Bob Smith, was Biby’s husband and my dad’s step-dad. He was a priest as a young man and left the priesthood in his late 20’s. The explanation for why he made this choice varies depending on who you ask – ranging from disagreement over certain church doctrines to “loving women” – all respectable reasons in my opinion. Having him as a grandfather was one of the greatest gifts in my life. He was deeply loving, intelligent, and fun, and embodied his spiritual values in everything he did. He taught me how to practice spirituality in my own way from a young age, encouraging me to focus my prayer on gratitude. Holy Wisdom meant so much to him. I think it exemplifies his idea of what a place of worship ought to be. Everything that Holy Wisdom stands for reminds me of his values and the way he lived his life.

Towards the end of his life, my Grandpa Bob got really into a song by Iris Dement called “Let the Mystery Be”. It’s not his usual type of music at all, and my family still likes to laugh when picturing him jamming out to a folky country song. The lyrics of the song are what he connected with most, here’s a snippet :

Everybody’s wondering what and where we all came from. Everybody’s worrying about where we’re gonna go when the whole things done. But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me. I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

The song goes on to examine different ideas of what awaits us at the end of life. The singer concludes that her form of faith is to “just let the mystery be”. After a life devoted to the study and practice of religion, I believe my grandfather came to a similar conclusion. As a former priest and a man of his own, strong convictions, I think he practiced a religion that drew from so many inspirations but was a form all his own. Holy Wisdom was the place where he felt at home in that practice, and I’m sure he didn’t make that choice lightly. This is also where he chose as his final resting place alongside my grandmother.

As we all know, participation and membership in organized religion is absolutely tanking among young folks today. I have a hard time explaining to people of my generation why spirituality is important to me. For many, it carries a connotation of intolerance, rigidity, or dogma. As a gay woman myself I can certainly understand where these assumptions come from. But Holy Wisdom is a unique place. Here, I feel that the culture is guided by the principles of religion that my grandfather sought to live by – acceptance, kindness, gratitude, community – to name a few. When I stand in the prairie, I feel the loving energy that exudes from everyone who continues to build this place together.

I grew up in Tomahawk, Wisconsin, then went to college and lived in Washington DC for a while, where I met my wife. We spent some time in the Philippines together where I studied and taught ceramics before settling down here in Dane County. I now work as a horticulturist at Epic.

The post Community of Joy: Quinn Casey appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

It’s early spring. Tendrils of mist dance like sprites on the water. The lake’s surface is smooth like polished silver. Several ducks skim silently like shadows in the fog. This is Lost Lake, a relic of the glaciers, which covered much of Wisconsin until 10,000 years ago. Lost Lake is nestled in prairie and woodland just west of Holy Wisdom Monastery.

You hike along the trail, which meanders around the lake. To your right oak trees rise like pillars, leaves rustling in the spring breeze. On your left emergent vegetation creates a verdant foreground to the lake. You squint as the brilliant morning sun consumes the mist opening a cloudless azure sky. Bird song and insect buzz envelope you, producing a spring reverie.

Then a bizarre sound scatters your dreamlike state.

Cow-cow-cow-cow-cow-cowp

You pause.

With binoculars in hand, you scan the lake to no avail. You resume your hike, tucking the sound away in your memory.

You return to Lost Lake a few weeks later. It doesn’t take long to hear it the call.

Cow-cow-cow-cow-cowp

Once more, you scrutinize the lake with your binoculars. Several Mallards paddle lazily on the sun sparkled water. Swallows swoop and slide, acrobats hunting insect meals. But source of the sound remains elusive. Then as you’re about to turn away something catches the corner of your eye and pulls you back.

A tiny brown bird pops to the surface of the lake, appearing from nowhere. You note she’s smaller than the nearby mallards. Before you can study her more, she vanishes with a graceful dive. You wait. A minute later she resurfaces in a different spot. She glides across the water, slicing the glassy surface like a knife and drawing closer as if to give you a better view. She’s a Pied-billed Grebe.

Pied-billed Grebes are compact birds. A thick body, slender neck and large head make them appear comical. But their anatomy has a purpose. They’re built for water. Grebes’ Latin genus, podylimbus (Podilymbus podiceps), means “feet at the buttocks.” True to their name, their legs emerge near their rumps enabling them to swim like submarines but rendering them awkward on land.

Many waterfowl species that visit Lost Lake are transitory. Yes, Mallards stay all summer, and Wood Ducks hang around, too. But Buffleheads, Teals, Goldeneyes are all short timers. Like summer’s bookends, they appear in spring and fall for a brief rest stop on their migration.

Pied-billed Grebes have made cameos at Lost Lake, too. But they haven’t lingered long. But this year is different.

A small splash disturbs the placid water as the grebe dives again. In seconds the water is calm. You hear a call.

Kee-kee-keee-kee-kee

This call is grebe-like but higher pitched and whiny. Your curiosity is piqued so you search the vegetation on far side of the lake. In one spot the reeds stir then part like curtains. Something emerges. It’s like your grebe, but smaller. Then you realize. It’s a juvenile Pied-billed Grebe!  In short order the parent appears, and they start to swim together.

The parent dives again, disappearing for a few minutes while the youngster waits at the surface. She emerges with a shiny fish. The youngster takes the fish, struggles with it, then gulps it whole.

So, what’s different this time around? This season marks the first time Pied-billed Grebes have bred and raised young at Lost Lake. The family arrived early last spring and can still be found at Lost Lake.

Newly hatched grebes leave the nest quickly but stay close for the first few days. Then they begin to hitch rides on their parents’ backs. The young grebe at Lost Lake is older now and swims on his own but follows close behind his parent.

Soon winter will creep in. The green oaks will transform into twisted skeletons silhouetted against foreboding skies. The grebes will be long gone.  So be sure to visit Lost Lake this fall and look for small birds gliding on the water, diving for food and uttering their grebe calls. They can be hard to see, so follow their calls to find them before they’re gone for the winter.

The post A new family at Lost Lake appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

Since the Fall of 2021, volunteers from Madison Audubon and Holy Wisdom have been monitoring windows at the Monastery and Retreat & Guest House for bird collisions. The volunteers detected 21 window collisions during fall 2022. This was more than the combined number of collisions documented during the fall of 2021 and spring of 2022. The greatest number of collisions occurred at glass doors at the Retreat & Guest House courtyard. Dr. Amy Alstad, the Director of Land Management noted “This is a protected area with vegetation that is attractive to song birds. As soon as it warms up, we will be applying dot stickers to our most dangerous windows.” The stickers have been shown to be more than 90% effective at reducing bird widow collisions.

It is not known why the collisions increased so dramatically during the fall of 2022. Collisions included fatalities, stunned birds and window smears (evidence of a collision). The actual collision numbers are likely higher because not all birds are found by the monitors. The Monastery plans to continue participating in the Audubon spring and fall monitoring efforts. Continued monitoring will also guide the Monastery’s efforts to reduce collisions and evaluate the effectiveness of the stickers.

Nationally, it is estimated that as many as one billion birds die from hitting windows each year. Based on data collected from Madison Audubon’s Bird Collision Corps, it’s estimated that tens of thousands of birds die in Madison each year after hitting windows, many at residential houses. Monitoring efforts like this one are critical to understanding why song bird numbers are plummeting and what can be done to reduce the impact of losses caused by human activity.

We are grateful that Madison Audubon has included Holy Wisdom in its greater Madison bird collision monitoring efforts and are especially appreciative of the summary report written by Brenna Marsicek, director of communications and outreach at Madison Audubon.

For more information on the Bird Collision Corps and what you can do to reduce the number of birds killed by window collisions please go to: https://madisonaudubon.org/prevent-collisions

The post <strong>Monitoring Bird-Window Collisions at the Monastery</strong> appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

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What does it truly mean to “care for the earth“?

 In this episode, take a deeper look at what “care for the earth” means from two leaders of our natural restoration efforts – retired Land Manager, Greg Armstrong and his successor, Amy Alstad, PhD.

Both our guests share their knowledge of the restoration work that the sisters have done over the years.  You’ll also hear about Friends of Wisdom Prairie, one of our volunteer communities, and their amazing contributions to the land at Holy Wisdom Monastery.

Furthermore, Greg and Dr. Amy share their own reflections of the varied meanings of the phrase “care for the earth”.

With Earth Day around the corner, this is a perfect episode to remind us of the work and meaning behind the restoration efforts of Holy Wisdom Monastery.

Where to Listen?

You can listen to The Holy Wisdom Podcast at any of these online locations:

Our Blog, under the “Podcast” Category

Anchor.fm

Apple Podcasts

Breaker

Google Podcasts

Spotify

RadioPublic

PocketCasts

The post “Restoration and Care for the Earth,” The Holy Wisdom Podcast appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

The above was our reading for Midday prayer on October 8, 2019 from the book 100 Ways to Keep Your Soul Alive: Living Deeply and Fully Every Day [Edited by Frederic & Mary Ann Brussat. HarperSanFrancisco, 1994 p. 28] The last sentence especially caught my attention. Through our promise of stability, “staying in one place,” and our call to care for the earth, we, Benedictines “find a home” and “sense how to fit a place.” Over the 66 years that the Benedictine sisters at Holy Wisdom have been in this place we have paid attention to the land.

Years ago, the sisters noticed the water running through the land with the spring rains. In the 70’s we created grass waterways. In the 90’s we began planting prairie and built a detention basin. We also worked with Westport Township, the Bruce Company and the DNR to restore Lost Lake and re-route the drainage in the neighborhood to enter Lost Lake through a natural filtration system. With this help, the land can now retain the water where it lands.

Listening to the land in the 80’s, the sisters planted trees to stem erosion on hillsides. The land now has pine woods and an increased area of oak savanna to hold the hillsides in place. We continue the work to restore the highly endangered oak savanna on the property. I walked through the savanna recently and noticed many birds flitting among the slash piles and prairie plants that grew up this year with the increased light getting to the forest floor.

As an expression of hospitality, we invite others into this conversation with the land. A couple of weeks ago, Sister Denise West and I hosted an eco-spirituality retreat for the campus ministries at Lawrence University, St. Norbert’s College and Pres House at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Twenty-one people spent the day learning about the restoration work at Holy Wisdom, picking prairie seed, sharing our own conversations with the land. We talked about our relationships with the land and its impact on our spiritual lives.

Here are a few comments from participants including a link to a podcast we drew on that everyone listened to before coming.

“I think the interaction with nature allows people to develop a deeper connection with who they are and what they consume.”

“I felt like it was a great intro to eco-spirituality from the sisters’ specific perspective as well as in regards to indigenous knowledge.  People from many backgrounds would feel comfortable in this space, I imagine.”

“The podcast [For the Wild podcast with Robin Wall Kimmerer http://forthewild.world/listen/robin-wall-kimmerer-on-indigenous-knowledge-for-earth-healing-35-encore?rq=robin%20wall] gave us an intellectual background, as did our guides Lynne and Denise, and the physical, repetitive act of harvesting seeds intentionally made it a spiritual and relational exercise rather than a repetitive, non-conscious action.”

The land was our conversation partner that day. It guided us into getting to know both itself and one another better. I invite you to consider your own conversation with the land.

The post Spirituality on the prairie appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

After lunch, I went to the garden where Sister Denise West, and later Sister Paz Vital, met me. The previous Monday, I had raked the stubble off the asparagus patch and piled it up for burning. The following Saturday, Sister Denise and I burned the pile. So now the patch was ready for a new layer of wood chips. We spent the afternoon hauling wood chips from the large piles by the lower garden. I was surprised to find that about 10 inches down the chips were still frozen solid. That’s just a reminder that spring is only beginning. In fact, as I write this, snow is predicted later in the week.

Manual labor is built into Benedictine life. I love working outside in the yard and the garden. I learned my love of outdoor work from my mother who still takes care of her yard at 88. Whenever the weather was halfway decent, she would shoo us outside to find something to do saying, “It’s too nice a day to be inside. Go outside and play.” And we did. She was the one who did most of the yard work, so when I was old enough, I would help her rake or pick up sticks or plant and weed the garden. It was my job in high school to trim the bushes that surrounded the back yard.  Only once did I cut the extension cord with the electric trimmers!

When we weren’t working or playing in the yard, I would take a book and climb the old boxelder tree near the garage, sit in its branches and read until dinner time.

Sister Meg Funk, from Our Lady of Grace Monastery in Beech Grove, Indiana, has written: “Work is a back door to pure prayer. For a proficient practitioner who is working mindfully, there is no distinction between work and prayer.” I’m not sure if I’m a “proficient practitioner” yet, but when I work outside, I feel one with my surroundings. My mind is quiet, and I’m not thinking about other things. I’m present, attending to the warmth of the sun on my skin and sensing my muscles as I lift the bucket of woodchips to spread on the warming earth. It feels like prayer.

On Sunday at the Eucharist we sang “O Christ Surround Me” as the communion hymn. I looked around the Assembly room at the people present and knew Christ was surrounding me. As I stood in the middle of the asparagus garden and looked around, the hymn came to my mind again, and I knew Christ was surrounding me in the garden. I think Sister Meg is right; there is no distinction between work and prayer. I’m blest to be able to work in the garden and deepen my prayer.

The post Prayer and work appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

Upon reflection, I realized this isn’t the first time I’ve chased down a rodent. Once, as a child, a chipmunk ran inside our living room during the summer through an open screen door. My sisters and I, screaming loudly, assisted by our faithful black Labrador Pebbles, vanquished the beast. It left a trail of stolen sunflower seeds from the birdfeeder outside in its wake.

(I’m now 2/2 in my rodent wrangling efforts.)

Our gardening adversaries include: bad weather, abundant weeds, various damaging insects, and now an especially voracious and determined rabbit. Although not a welcome guest in any garden, rabbits are traditionally a symbol of abundance and new life in Christian iconography. (I’m not so sure the two rows of beets eaten off by this particular rabbit feel particularly lively or abundant at the moment, though.) According to the Hebrew Bible, rabbits are classified alongside unclean animals, unfit for human consumption. (Our garden rabbit will be delighted to hear this.) So, the rabbit becomes a somewhat ambiguous symbol, either representing uncleanliness and vice, or abundance and life. Likewise, in our time rabbits are seen as a nuisance, garden-invader, and carrier of disease, or as a lovable pet or story character. We don’t want to welcome this rabbit into the garden, it seems perfectly capable of sneaking in anyways. But, it’s untimely invasion gave me the opportunity to reflect on ambiguity (and to google “rabbits in the Bible,” just to double check).

Likewise, summer is both beautiful and restorative, but also filled with unpleasant and inconvenient summertime happenings. Ticks, deer flies, and mosquitoes, sunburn and humidity and soaring temperatures run rampant. At the same time, local produce is available, the lakes are warm enough to enjoy, everything in sight is verdant and fecund, and the days are long to enjoy, uncluttered by the pressures of graduate school coursework. Our environments and communities, our animal and plant neighbors, and we ourselves are ambiguous. From the rabbit’s perspective, Sister Paz and I interrupted a feast with terrifying screams and persistent pursuance. The rabbit simply seized an opportunity which, if faced with the same chance, who among us would pass up?

It’s hard to sit in the grey area of ambiguity. Within our troubles, enemies, foes, there’s an alternative perspective living and motivating, which it might benefit us to ponder. Even if this particular foe was only a rabbit.

(Afterword: Today, Friday, I joined the sisters to work in the garden for a while. Before I got out there, Sister Paz had discovered a tiny hole that was actually a nest of baby rabbits right in the middle of a row of beets. I think we found the reason behind our rabbit!)

Kate Stel is working as an intern at Holy Wisdom Monastery this summer. She will be writing blog posts, helping to plan retreats, working in the garden, attending Sunday Assembly worship, assisting Greg Armstrong and the Friends of Wisdom Prairie with their ongoing earth-care efforts and soaking in the contemplative character of the monastery. Kate is studying at the University of Chicago Divinity School as a Master of Divinity student and is delighted to spend the summer out of the city.

The post Rodent wrangling and ambiguity appeared first on Holy Wisdom Monastery.

On other days I watch the appearance of an adolescent cooper’s hawk in various locations around the property—on the electric lines above the road, in an oak tree in the neighborhood. As I stop to gaze at it, it turns its head to size up this stranger surveying it. These are graced moments.

Benedictine spirituality moves us to maintain the grounds at the monastery as a place where guests, retreatants and community members can have these kinds of encounters that foster an awareness of the sacredness of creation of which we are all a part.

Joan Chittister writes in In the Heart of the Temple, “Benedict requires five qualities of the monastic that affect the way the monastic deals with the things of the earth: praise, humility, stewardship, manual labor, and community, each of them designed to enable creation to go on creating.” I am struck by how these five qualities could help the human community as we seek to find a sustainable relationship to the earth.

Praise causes me to stop and appreciate the world in which I live.

Humility teaches me that I am not the center of the universe.

Stewardship challenges me to take an honest account of what I need and be mindful of the needs of others—humans and animals, insects and birds, plants and trees. Stewardship teaches me to tend and care for the earth’s resources and all of life that is so interconnected.

Manual labor brings me into intimate contact with the earth and calls me to contribute to the flourishing of life wherever I find it.

Community reminds me that I cannot and do not do any of this alone. As Joan says, the point of all of this is “to enable creation to go on creating.”

As I see the turkey hen appear shyly out from under a blue spruce and the grass ruffle as the chicks venture out looking for insects, I am grateful to be reminded of the on-going process of creation and our community’s part in it.

_______________________

Read other posts in Sister Lynne Smith’s series:  Building community

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