Perhaps I first opened the pages of “Holy the Firm” with skepticism due to whom it came from, a normally white-collared fellow who read Karl Barth’s Systematic Theology for fun. With expectations of a perfectly dogmatic short novel holding with all orthodox thoughts, I began a journey into Puget Sound.
I rocked. I rolled. I listened with my whole being to the creek-like words of Annie Dillard. Rock ahead! Slight curve and gracefully she passes. She touches upon the infinite between two earthen banks. She flows but not as a river. As the creek by the house where I grew up, no easy path to take. Is she a heretic? She dodges herself back into orthodoxy. A Philosopher? No becomes my answer as nihilism flows into the current of idealism which both run into realism in some banded rush.
She becomes creation to portray creation. She is the creek outside my door.