On Monday, Jed and I made our annual trek along the Alder Springs trail to Whychus Creek’s confluence with the Deschutes River. It’s not a long hike, about six miles round trip. It is a little complicated, though, which is the fun of it. First we hike down into Whychus Creek’s canyon, pretty steep in places. Then we ford Whychus Creek, which this year was only up to my knees. Some years it’s hip-high, quite the adventure for little me. The last leg is a two-mile walk through the canyon on a rocky trail following the curves of Whychus Creek to where it meets the Deschutes. It’s a hike filled with the songs of Canyon Wrens and riparian songbirds, many wildflowers, and funky geology. I love it.

And the water. Oh, the water. The Deschutes River has carved swoops and swirls, bowls and kettles, into its hard basalt bed. Alders line its banks, as one would expect. Also birches, dogwood, roses, willows, the occasional maple, horsetails, and so many more. Canyon walls reach high overhead. Swallows and Turkey Vultures sweep the cloud-filled sky, and, if we’re lucky, American Dippers bob along the rocky bank. This year, we watched a parent American Dipper feed their fledgling. Dippers are aquatic songbirds, unique in their ability to walk and even swim underwater, feeding on aquatic bugs and their larvae.

I feel like praying here, at the waters. As my Christian faith has fallen away, authentic prayer has become more of a struggle. My mind automatically reaches for the words of the Trisagion: “Holy God, Holy and Mighty, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on me.” But those words no longer fit my heart’s yearning, and they haven’t for a long time. Changing the words worked for a while: “Holy God, Holy and Strong, Holy Living One, dwell in me.” But nope. No can do anymore. These words just feel wrong.

This year, as I sat on the river-smoothed basalt with my feet in the cold rushing Deschutes, I waited. I waited for that moment of connection that always comes, the moment I become conscious of what’s always true: river, birds, canyon walls, sky, and I are one. Words will forever be inadequate to express this deep feeling of oneness with Earth and her creatures. What feels authentic and necessary is to rest in that oneness and praise it.

Praise be to you, oh river. Praise be to you, oh dipper. Praise be to you, oh canyon. Praise be to you, clouds and swallows and vultures. Praise be to you, oh my body that brings me here. Praise be to Earth and all who dwell within her.

Photo credit: Jed Holdorph