How does a mountain sing for joy?
Is it in the tall, tall ponderosas as they gently rock and sway a butterscotch-scented lullaby?
Or is it by their monolithic grandeur, rising out of what easily could have been more prairie if the creator had chosen that?
Or is it by their simple height that they recollect a song sometimes lost in our busy soul?
How does a mountain sing for joy?
Is it in the people and animals that play and work on the hills and in the valley,
alongside streams that are singing, singing their own songs?
Like finger cymbals is the yapping of a small dog.
A mother's voice, as she calls her children home, cuts through composed chaos like an oboe in a great symphony.
Jingling and skipping and all of history's best dance rhythms trail out from the peppy young feet of children chasing and racing and running across the contoured earth.
The mountains sing!
The earth sings!
And they sing many more songs than this.
How does a mountain sing for joy?
It sings by its very presence,
fully alive is the earth which God created
and creates
and continues to care for.
The question is not "How does a mountain sing for joy?"
but rather,
"How can it not keep from singing?"
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