I also used to think you had to go to churches to stand with the people of God and commune with the holy, but I don't think that anymore either.

I live on a ridge top where the sky is huge.

No matter when you go outside, it is always there, and yet it is always revealing a different face of majesty.

In just the past few days, sunsets and sunrises have book-ended daylight with splashes of orange, purple and yellow. In darkness, meteors have streaked across the sky. In the silence of the deep night, white-yellow flashes have lit up the northern horizon. And the rains have fallen hard from the sky, their force washing away a nearby farmer's basil.

I encounter the sky out here in solitude and with others. I work in the garden and chat with neighbors beneath it. My fiancé and I eat dinner beneath it. We set out chairs and blankets and gather with others for a potluck beneath it.

Right now, it is morning again, and a white fog blankets this ridge top. Even hidden, the sky's presence dominates the landscape this morning and gently, quietly communes with all of us beneath it.