I listen to Nick Cave . . . I believe in love . . . and behold the greening outside and I am overcome with a love and beauty that moves me to tears . . .
Last night, a friend tells me she’s watching a rainbow and I keep running outside and doing a 360 scan of the evening sky, all to no avail, for the rainbow does not settle where I can see . . . yet the sky and the clouds, the cattle settling in, dogs barking in the distance, houses fading into evening – all fill me with quietude as I turn back in for the night, richer for the rainbow I did not see . . .
A man sits at my table and tells me about the day he met his wife, unshed tears glistening in his eyes like memories too precious to lose to time . . . or loss . . .
Sidney the cat moseys over to the small square of sunlight on the Turkish rug and snuggles in to its warmth . . .
I study a picture of my grandson, caught in mid-stride, mid-smile, at a moment where I was not there and can only enjoy from this distance of time and memory, the boy he is mingling with the baby and tree-hugging toddler he was, so many firsts still before him . . .
I listen again to the Good Friday soundtrack* I created for the service and am again moved by the voices of others in ways my soul understands but my words cannot describe . . .
The tulips do their spring surprise – yesterday’s limp-melted sun-infused petals revitalized to attention by the cool evening air, looking, for a moment in time, like the youngsters they were just a day or so ago . . . back then when they had more life ahead than behind . . .
Nothing special, nothing earth-moving or history making, perhaps, but these, the moments, are the things I want to preserve, to remember, to call to mind in a cool spring day when such moments reach out and touch my heart and warm the room just a bit . . .
_______________
*This year’s Good Friday soundtrack: Stay With Me, Taize Community. Dust in the Wind, Kansas. Ride, Nick Drake. After the Storm, Mumford and Sons. 21 Guns, Green Day. Anthem, Leonard Cohen. Stand by Me, Sam Cooke. Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, Nina Simone. The Far Road, Nick Cave & Warren Ellis.
Last night, a friend tells me she’s watching a rainbow and I keep running outside and doing a 360 scan of the evening sky, all to no avail, for the rainbow does not settle where I can see . . . yet the sky and the clouds, the cattle settling in, dogs barking in the distance, houses fading into evening – all fill me with quietude as I turn back in for the night, richer for the rainbow I did not see . . .
A man sits at my table and tells me about the day he met his wife, unshed tears glistening in his eyes like memories too precious to lose to time . . . or loss . . .
Sidney the cat moseys over to the small square of sunlight on the Turkish rug and snuggles in to its warmth . . .
I study a picture of my grandson, caught in mid-stride, mid-smile, at a moment where I was not there and can only enjoy from this distance of time and memory, the boy he is mingling with the baby and tree-hugging toddler he was, so many firsts still before him . . .
I listen again to the Good Friday soundtrack* I created for the service and am again moved by the voices of others in ways my soul understands but my words cannot describe . . .
The tulips do their spring surprise – yesterday’s limp-melted sun-infused petals revitalized to attention by the cool evening air, looking, for a moment in time, like the youngsters they were just a day or so ago . . . back then when they had more life ahead than behind . . .
Nothing special, nothing earth-moving or history making, perhaps, but these, the moments, are the things I want to preserve, to remember, to call to mind in a cool spring day when such moments reach out and touch my heart and warm the room just a bit . . .
_______________
*This year’s Good Friday soundtrack: Stay With Me, Taize Community. Dust in the Wind, Kansas. Ride, Nick Drake. After the Storm, Mumford and Sons. 21 Guns, Green Day. Anthem, Leonard Cohen. Stand by Me, Sam Cooke. Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, Nina Simone. The Far Road, Nick Cave & Warren Ellis.
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