In a place where miles are numbered and numbers are named to the places where small town, like minded folk dwell and share, there is an awakening to the life they live. They share their love, their thoughts, and their similarities in likes for tea leaves and garden décor. My eyes absorb and take in the scenery that I have seen twenty years earlier. My heart is like a train track, following openly while travelling through canyons and mountain sides under skies of thunder. There is a deep thirst, a burning hunger for an absolute that can’t be determined by the weather, because it is unpredictable like the breeze that gently welcomes my aging skin. The absolute certainty, hides perfectly clear, for He is not hidden at all, but the contrary. It is I hidden in Him. I am hidden in the landscape of His creative touch, in the landscape of His creative breath, and in the landscape of His creative word.