I've been home a week now, and I'm still moving with the energy that broke open in me at Walden Pond. I have available again the old patterns and the old distractions, and still I am walking around regarding myself as a changed person, as one in whom something profound has happened. I seem hyper-aware of all that is holy and beautiful in my life, of both the material and spiritual abundance that makes my cup overflow. I've been telling everyone about my fabulous trip. But it's time to stop talking and start doing. That's the thing about mountaintop experiences -- you have to bow to the burning bush, come down from the heights, and start living the changes.

I was up at 5:30 this morning, a little before the sky began to lighten. We've had three weeks of above-90 degree days, and the humidity builds so fast that if I want to get any exercise I have to do it before the fog burns off. I walked through this neighborhood I love so much, seeing it with my new eyes. I did the thirty-minute trek -- west on Bradley up the hill to Millwood, around Millwood and then right on Reichert, loop around Verona and Brian, and then back down the hill on Bradley to home. I grabbed a bottle of water and set out across the meadow to the prayer gazebo.

I've written before about our church neighbor. In the two years since that one somewhat disturbing incident there has been little activity out of the ordinary over there. There have been a few more gazebo weddings, some use of the picnic grove, and an outdoor service early this summer. 

The land behind the gazebo slopes up into a heavily wooded area that separates it from the property of yet another church built three years ago. Last spring some members did a lot of work around the gazebo installing what was described in the newspaper as a "prayer garden." They cleared some of the trees (the sound of the chipper always strikes fear into my heart) and hauled in tan bark, some benches, and some statuary. I could see one of the benches from my seat at the kitchen table, but until this morning I hadn't crossed the meadow to pray there myself.

A few paths have been laid out from the gazebo to a spot a few hundred feet west where the forest growth becomes quite thick. The statuary is a combination of large angels that look like the kind often found in a 19th century cemetery and some kitschy garden sculptures of cute rabbits and grinning squirrels. There is also a ceramic fox holding a basket of flowers in its mouth. Two bird cages (empty, I was relieved to note) hang from a bar bolted into the side of a tree. There is green cyclone fence marking the paths, and here and there in the cleared areas under the trees are some brightly brightly-colored fabric flowers have been set into the mulch as if they are growing there.

Sigh.

After my experience in Vermont walking the natural trails maintained by the U.S. Forest Service and the Spirit in Nature group, the scene was jarring. The church members who built this area were no doubt well-intentioned but, in my opinion anyway, misguided, or poorly-educated about working with landscape design in natural settings. 

At least the sounds were natural. Some birds were having a conversation, and two chipmunks rustled the undergrowth as they darted under the gazebo floor. I don't want to be mean-spirited, especially since I intend to make use of the area for rest and prayer. But I'd like to tell the members of the congregation that God's grandeur needs no adornment from items bought at Wal-Mart.