Terms of use

The sun climbs the hills. Pastor Squatch walks the path. He finds a stump and sits. He writes in a small book. The woods are quiet except for birds. His beard catches the wind. He writes about trees and men and faith. He writes about coffee and rain and lost socks. He tells stories of hope and jokes about fish that got away. Squirrels pause to listen. Pastor Squatch sees the world as it is. He finds humor in things left behind. He writes what he knows. He shares tales of hard work and good meals. He sees a cloud and thinks of mercy. He hears a crow and remembers old friends. His words carry the sound of boots on wet earth. They move like water over stone. You want to read his musings. 

You want to know why he laughs at mud or why his shirt smells like pine sap. You wonder how he keeps going when the night grows long. You see yourself in his stories, strong and steady, searching for firewood and meaning. You find comfort in his plain words. You want to walk beside him and hear more. Take his book home. Open it at dawn or dusk or when the rain falls hard. Read a page before you split wood or after you plant seeds. Let his stories fill your day with hope and grit. Share them with your friends by the fire. Keep the musings close. Carry them as you walk your own path through the woods.