by Mark Weinrich
Like Moses, I turned aside the forest floor and canopy aflame, a sanctuary—glowing gold, flashing like a cherub’s sword. I stepped silently then stooped to remove my shoes. But would God speak through this burning grove? I lingered till I heard His voice, not audibly, but visibly— tracks of maple leaves like drops of blood. Christ’s death rent the veil in two that I might enter fearlessly and boldly into His Holy Place.
Mark Weinrich lives a creative life as a writer, photographer, musician, and artist—all wrapped together in an outdoorsman. He is a retired pastor and nine-year cancer survivor. His writing and photography have appeared in over 139 news stand, inspirational, and literary publications. He has sold eight children’s books and currently has two fantasy novels on Kindle.