I often need to stop what I am doing and look around, drinking in as much of creation as I can. The scenery here, the natural wonder of the area, is so breathtaking that I cannot ignore it. I am known to be lulled mid-sentence into gazing at these mountains. I sometimes have to stop walking, overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounds me.

     To the east of San Lucas is a high mountain ridge extending from the southern entrance of town towards the community of San Antonio Palopó, several miles to the north on the eastern lakeshore. There, this ridge meets another leading to Santa Catarina Palopó – where it meets still another extending northwest to Panajachel. This mountain wall, at some places very steep and at others draped with coffee and corn fields, is my first view of the day as I open my door.

     As I step out to the balcony of my hilltop, second-story room, I pause to take in the pre-dawn scene. The eastern mountainside remains dark as the sky behind it slowly lightens, creating a massive silhouette. At one point, the top drops forty or fifty feet and then rises again. In the center of this notch is a large tree, perfectly rounded as if a child had drawn it. As the sky grows brighter and the earth remains dark, the branches of this tree weave together into a delicate lace. Meanwhile, the sky forms a mosaic of blue, green, pink, and white. Looking down and across the top of San Lucas, the rising smoke of hundreds of breakfast fires mingles with morning fog and drapes a white blanket over the roofs and treetops.

     Before turning away from the balcony’s edge, I stop and take in the southern view. Volcano Atitlán, accompanied by small, morning-grey clouds and standing an additional six thousand feet over this already mile-high level, is a daily reminder of how small I am. As I wait for the sun to reach my home, it already fully illuminates the steep slopes of Atitlán.

     A small, low cloud, rolling in the morning breeze immediately above the sun’s rising point, appears to be lit from within with an intense, blinding glow. As the sun finally breaks over the mountains and bathes San Lucas with its warmth and light, I feel the urge to join the rooster-chorus and crow a day-greeting of my own.

     The day moves on, and I move about my business and about the community, whose scenes continually capture my senses. The richness of the blue sky. The contours of the mountains ringing the town and the lake. The many greens of the many varieties of trees and palms. The continual bird-song and its accompanying chorus of voices in the marketplace. The aroma of burning wood and cooking tortillas. The lofty trees dancing in the wind. The intensity of the sun. The deep blue of enormous Lake Atitlán. The array of flowers and ornate plants. The assorted colors of streetside produce baskets. The simplicity of houses, roads, and shops. And, of course, the majesty of sister volcanoes Atitlán and Tolimán.

     Late in the afternoon, as the sun settles behind the volcanoes and paints the sky new shades of blue and green and gold, the face of Tolimán is cast into dark shadow. Atitlán, capturing the full force of these beginning evening-rays, is a bright contrast to her dark sister; all detail is lost as the angled light coats her with a soft radiance. She grows dark from the bottom up, the sun sinking deeper into unseen mountains far behind her.

     Before all light is lost, the whole of town is bathed orange. This is my favorite part of nature’s day-story. It is a calming, tranquil glow, an assurance that, no matter what I did or did not do this day, no matter what happened or did not happen to me, peace is nearer than I can imagine. It calls me to an inner quiet, to a simple trust in the One who, though unseen, holds me and bathes me in grace.

     Darkness comes quickly – and fully. The stars are spectacular in this clear mountain air. The moon reveals the silhouettes of streetscapes and night-strollers. Atitlán and Tolimán capture moonlight and hide starlight, becoming dark and mysterious guardians of the night.

     Preparing to sleep, I again pause on my balcony. I marvel at the clarity of the stars. I discover new constellations; rather, I encounter constellations new to me at this latitude, far below that of my home in Minnesota. I bid goodnight to Atitlán, knowing that I will sleep
well protected.

     Tomorrow is a mystery far deeper than the darkest night’s sky. I do not know what it will bring or what it will ask of me. As I leave the night’s cool breeze and close my door, with a sigh for the wonders God has blessed me to have experienced, I know that tonight, at least, I am
at peace.