You are standing at the corner of your yard, almost in the wheat field.

At first, you focus only on the stalks nearest you, examining the half-formed heads of grain and the narrow leaves with their silver-green backs.

The sun beats down on your head, and a light, hot breeze ruffles your hair.

Slowly, you raise your eyes to take in the entire field, watching it shimmer as the wind makes the wheat ripple like a giant lake.

Heat waves in the distance slightly obscure your view of the far-away forest, which seems an oasis of cool shade as you stand in the hot sunlight.

Barn swallows dart lazily across the scene, and you follow their flight with your eyes until you're staring straight up into the cloudless sky.

The glorious blue is almost to bright to look at, and it's only by squinting that you are able to bear it.

You inhale deeply, and a thousand scents cross your awareness.

Wood smoke, fresh-cut grass, lilacs, dirt, and too many others to count.

You close your eyes, your head still tilted skyward.

Somewhere, a pheasant calls, his rasping voice too loud in the stillness.

A quail answers, "bob-white!," as though it's telling the pheasant to shut up, and a mourning dove seconds the motion.

Almost before his "coo-OOO-ooo-ooo-ooo" has faded away, a thrush sings out its cheery, bubbly melody, and the chirps of a killdeer form the harmony.

The birds fall silent after a few moments, as oppressed by the heat as you are.

Suddenly, a whisper of coolness comes to you, a slight shift in the wind.

It lasts only a moment, but you feel refreshed.

Opening your eyes again, you see that the sun is about to set, and you turn toward it instinctively, soaking in the rich light.

The simple splendor is glorious, the sky a burning gold as the orange-red orb sinks below the horizon.

As the sky fades to a glowing red in the west, you notice that the entire sky has become a rainbow, and you turn around as your eyes take in each color: red, orange, yellow, the thinnest band of green, blue sweeping across the vast expanse of the heavens, and, far in the east, purple.

The full moon is just rising.

He has respectfully waited for the queen of the skies to vacate her seat before entering the dome to preside over the myriad stars which begin to peek out from behind the curtain of night.

The wind has cooled and strengthened; it tugs at your clothes and hair, inviting you once again to see its marvels across the wheat field.

In the moonlight, the field is a lake of molten silver, tossing and shimmering.

As the night grows colder, you take another look at the dancers of the sky.

They are many now, tiny points of light, even more magical than the moon.

You shiver as the wind brushes past you again, and feel as though you are intruding on this scene; it is not meant for human eyes.

Far away, in the woods, the spring peepers begin their nightly chorus, and bats flutter by, invisible in the darkness, singing out their tiny chirps, clicks, and whistles.

Slowly, very slowly, you turn from the field and walk to the house, leaving the sacred, enchanted night.

"God looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, that did seek God. Every one of them is gone back: they are altogether become filthy; there is none that doeth good, no, not one." Psalm 53:2,3

"Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 'Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? Gird up now thy loins like a man: for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner stone thereof; When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?'"

"Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing. Know ye that the Lord, he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name. For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations." Psalm 100

"Hearken, O daughter, and consider, and incline thine ear; forget also thine own people, and thy father's house; So shall the king greatly desire thy beauty: for he is thy Lord; and worship thou him." Psalm 45: 10,11