A WATCHMAN

From atop a hill in Israel, in Judea, like a Watchman I gaze over the Land. I am overcome with its beauty, peace and the sense of an eternal Presence.

A special law seems to rule over nature in the Judean wilderness, a place that Generations of human habitation has been unable to destroy, natural beauty that has existed from a time when tribes wandered here.  Here earth and sky unite to present an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color. From the misty first light of dawn, through the harsh sun-splashed whiteness of noonday, they dissolve into the soft beauty of the pastels of twilight and, finally, into the moonlit black and white of the night.

From a high hill overlooking the road to the date palms of Jericho, seemingly uninhabitable wilderness spreads before me. Bits of green mark an ancient water hole or a modern village. A flock of sheep is herded by a sandaled Bedouin child who lives in a black topped tent set incongruously beside a satellite dish and generator.  Nearby, a camel stands in a postcard pose in the heat of the mid-day sun.

On a clear day, I can see the east bank of the Jordan River where Moses and the Israelites trod before they crossed over to the Promise Land.  I listen to the silence of the desert, yet the wind carries with it a fain