A lot happened during our Upper Midwest excursion. Wisconsin proved once again that if God exists, he must have rested his elbow there while taking a break from creating the planet, because I can't dip my feet in one of her cold lakes without falling down the spiritual slide of my consciousness. Wild eagles floated overhead and we had to act like it was as ordinary as a candy-coated tree. If unicorns existed this is where I'd send them (and pray they're never seen again.)
Church is a kayak on glassy water in early morning. Its congregation quietly agreeing with the sermon from the back row in the forest. I will get back there again some day.
Church is a vinyl record slowly spinning in the house of a man who wants nothing more out of life than to fish from the banks of the Mississippi River, which can be seen from his kitchen window while Doc Watson praises the lord from a scratchy bygone era.
We're home now. And I want to worship all the gods.