That Night at Trout Creek

August 5, 2026. Near Woodland Park, CO

It was evening

And the sun had drawn westward,

lingering just above the brow of the mountaintops.

I was walking,

feet crunching into dry needles and cones of pine,

fallen branches and loose sand.

I was watching the black squirrel

and the chipmunks

and deer,

The white throated swifts

and violet-green swallows.

Blinding spots of sunlight shone through the canopy of aspen and pine.

I watched as a hummingbird glided upon the evening air

branch to branch,

flower to flower.

I noticed her,

spoke to her,

I sang of her wonder and size:

Her emerald green color and miniature stature.

She sprinted swiftly upon the wind and came so near to me!

I watched as she flew

I stood as she displayed herself

A work of art, a work of God.

She lingered just beyond the tip of my nose,

Just below my brow,

Giving me a moment.

A moment just to look,

to truly see.

She floated in my gaze so close,

the moments seemed to slow.

So impossibly intimate,

Allowing me to witness her beauty,

To witness her still being

She lingered in my sight,

and as quickly as that moment came,

she was gone.

Leaving me amazed.

Grateful, astonished, alive.

It never ceases to amaze me how close we really are.

How you really can see God in everything

If you're just willing to simply sit,

and look.