Sheltered in the old cabin high in the mountains for another short Winter’s week, my brother and I climbed around the mossy boulders and glacier-ground cairns of stone, touched the massive bark arms of time-worn trees and crisscrossed icy burns and rivers. We were delightfully dowsed in sun, soil, snow and stream.
After putting my hand in the chilled mountain waters a few times, hearing and feeling the power of snowswirling winds and standing under the nightshow of countless stars, I paused for the Great Gospel of the Mountains: All is a Stream. All of it. All that. All this. All of us. Me. You. All.
Streams of clouds drop streams of rain and snow blown by streams of wind and strike the land to become streams of water moving, bubbling down and down through forest and canyon, falling in streaming light.
Streams of cells and sap and fiber root and crown the streams of bark-clothed streaming beings we call trees.
Streams of birds and insects, fish and invisibles circle and cycle in endless movement.
Streams of air are drawn into our cave-like openings to stream along the branches of lungs to energize the streams of blood that we streamdwellers call Life and Living.
We do dwell in streams. We are streams. Living Rivers in a Universal River.
One stream filled with endless streams.
Nature is Stream.
Secular Chaplain 
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