There is a historic landmark safely snuggled in the Silver Valley of Cataldo, Idaho. The rustic cream-colored Mission of the Sacred Heart is situated on a grassy knoll, flanked on the south by the Coeur d’Alene River. Aspen, maple, and cottonwood stand sentinel over those that find rest there – both past and present. I love the startling solitude and can’t begin to number the times that I have pulled off the I-90 just for the opportunity of breathing life there.
I have stopped to possess the gradient coral of the morning broken by great shafts of sterling light; I have stopped to swallow the indigo of midnight pierced through with pinpoints of silver; I have stopped to roll in the glorious silken sheets of the Aurora Borealis.
I have stopped there to partake of the fragrant bloom in spring, the lazy buzz of summer, the fluttering zephyr of fall, and the stark delicacy of winter. I have grieved there, rejoiced there, stormed there, and danced there.
It has been a refuge for me; it has been the place to meet me, and a place to meet God. I have asked my husband to fling my ashes to the wind there, to be consumed by the cycle life and death that abides there. It is one of my favorite spots to quietly live and breathe and have my being.
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