Mostly glimpses of sun, cloud, and wind on the Atlantic shore, but some scenes from the garden harvest and camping on Beagle Gap, too. Author Hannah Hurnard described the falling creek as a picture of the servant seeking the lowest place and yet mystically experiencing the high country.

I remember almost feeling the ocean spray and smelling the campfire and hearing the whippoorwill while hidden away in the basement studio in the wee hours of the morning.

Lyrics

Copyright 1986 Dave Nealon

It was only a moment disappointment flickered in your eyes but I could see
And in that same instant I saw forgiveness in your tears
Like stacks of clouds against the sunrise I'm washed in glory a guilty man
Tear back my skin, crack open my ribcage, beat my sleeping heart with your hand
With you hand

And let the freedom roll around you
Firelight glow around you
Feel your soul start to sway
And let the sea spray blow around you
High tide flow around you
Southwind tow your heart away

The truth of our happiness isn't like my tired mind, my wandering eyes
Or the bad taste of the day's events and the things I said still in my mouth
We're clean as sky
And we're feeding from the garden in the year of the drought, but we're not dry
Love is like a stream descending, leaping down the mountain; it feels high
It feels high

There is a pleasure that's not in the pleasant moment
It's in the memory of struggles of the past
A trip to the top involves a slide to the bottom
The way to win is racing to be last

We spent the night on a baldhead peak
The wind that swept the mountains brushed us, too
And the whippoorwill called all through the night
Till just before the first pale light filtered through
We hiked back down and hurried home, backpacks filled with the breath of mountain sky
Love is like a stream descending, leaping down the mountain, it feels high
It feels high