Today I went hill-walking with a group from St. Peter’s. Henrik Svensson, the Swedish guy who is filling David Robertson’s shoes in the pulpit, Steven, who leads the psalm singing, and Julia, a cool lady with a nose ring shaped like a snake (it’s pretty awesome), came along.
It was a wonderful hike up into the clouds, up where the rocks pierce through the grass and the angry wind made my fleece jacket feel like wings. It’s not always angry though. When the sun is out the wind seems like it’s playing with you, tempting you to fly. When the clouds descend though, it’s voice turns sinister and sometimes when it whips around the boulders it shrieks in your ears. Best are the unexpected stillnesses, when the silence sounds like God in its inexplicable profundity.
We made the peaks of Ben Glass and Ben Lawrens, then circled back around through a stretch of rolling meadows. For a moment I wished we’d just come up that way, but I was immediately ashamed of the thought. You can only really enjoy the peace of the meadow when you’ve been to the mountaintop.