I look to the hills

It was a scene so photogenic, so visually powerful and mystical and ... strong.
Art directors the world over would weep.

That field in the background is deep and wide and golden with the setting sun. That mountain range behind it is blue-grey and long and high and portent. The clouds to our left were heaving and black, to the right fluffy and white, and just off frame, half a rainbow dipped down from the heavens.
That minister spoke, those two people pledged and all the while thunder rumbled in the distance.
And just as they came to the vows, so came the big plop-plop of the first drops of thunderstorm rain. By the time they were man and wife we were nearly drenched.

I attended two Christian religious ceremonies last week.

One took place in a church. Surrounded by the trappings of culture and ritualised belief, protocol and decorum and stand now and sit now and say this now. I understand some people take comfort from that.

The other, in a place far more holy than the first. Free, true, tangible, fresh, dusty, exposed, timeless. It was still not my god, but it made much more sense to me there.