Finger pointing surrounds the summer season, and it’s not among people, but rather nature. The environment is crowded with species far and wide -- all who seem to fingerpoint to the almighty heavens, as if reminding us constantly of "Who did it" and with whom our gratitude should lie. The personalitites in the landscape are as vast as humans, yet still each of them directs us.
Take a look:
Take a look:
A blade of grass, diminutive in size but grown in its own forest thicket where each points up.
And the lovely little wild flowers dancing in the breeze with arms upstretched.
The regal Douglas Fir who isn't satisfied to point only once, but must do so with every branch.
The thorny blackberry vine, even with his contemptuous attitude, aligns to the heavens.
The unwanted clover weed, growing where it's able, sunning itself in God's presence.
The burned and damaged tree with no complaints still holds its core upwards.
Old craggy peaks, wise with years, guide us to higher ground.
The fancy palms, poofle heavy, yet ever ascending its new growth.
Even majestic mountains imply something more eminent than themselves.
I tend to think this is no mistake. And it causes me to reflect. Do I follow nature's lead and point up? Do others know by looking at me, that my arms are outstretched, I'm aligned to the heavens, sun myself in God's presence, and follow higher ground? I sure hope so. The landscape has long inspired many, and its finger-pointing design withstands all seasons as a constant reminder.