Journal Entry: Monday, February 26, 2006; 11:00 am.
The bald eagle has moved on. The wind converses with the tall pines, punctuated by a woodpecker's knock. The distant pack of hunting dogs is gone now, leaving a ghostly echo of the dozen coyotes who prowled this hollow last night. The windsong murmurs in the forest .
"The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit" (John 3:8 ESV).