He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.

Our house sits between a five acre wood and a ten acre pasture. My office is about 50 yards up the road overlooking the same pasture.

As I write this, looking toward the pasture I see my dim reflection in the window. The sun has not risen. But in a few minutes I will be able to see rabbits nibbling, birds flitting, perhaps a fox hurrying across the field.

When I return home my wife will have been awake only ten or fifteen minutes. But she will report to me on deer, or turkey, or even the occasional bear.

The natural world can be a dangerous place. I do not envy the rabbits, at least the squirrels can climb. It is easier to be higher on the food-chain.

In the pasture change is constant, it is also broadly predictable; life is vulnerable and beauty abounds. The sky is now a dusky purple and a mist is rising with the sun.