They are building homes on Stock Ranch Road Where once I wandered silent among the rows of trees. Their untrimmed, tangled branches had an order of their own And as I walked I sometimes found a place where I had to put my knees.

Someone planted all those stanchions one by one in regimented rows. Someone understood that time would pass before the harvest would come. Someone looked to years ahead when their goal would be fulfilled. Someone made me think of prophets pointing to the coming of God's Son.

I would pray my way through the paths winding around those guardians. The way that each was planted showed the working of some man. Each was behind or beside another like itself equal distances apart. No atheist would deny the intelligence of that planting hand.

Homes for single families will soon cover all those fields. It shouldn't matter so much now that I can't walk as I once used to do. Yet as I watched huge machines tear down each and every tree, I pondered on that future time when workers will come for me and you.

Will we be torn from this place and time and tossed in a wasted pile? Or will we be taken to a luscious grove of other fruitful trees? This simile is wearing out so I ask you to think on it a while. I'll leave these simple thoughts for you while I get back on my knees.