Saturday, April 18, 2009

8:16 am

Up this morning before dawn, I put on a pot of coffee and dressed as quietly as I could in the gray silence of the house. I wanted MeeMaw to sleep and rest. With the Folgers bubbling into the Pyrex, I slipped out of the house and went up into the woods. The sky was brightening with every second, and I was trying to be both swift and stealthy as I ascended the hill. I stopped by the northeast fenceline and looked into a sky of expectation:
By the time I reached the top of the woodlot and looked due east, the slightest flicker came across the top of the horizon, like an ember in a woodstove, recreating fire from the night before.



I never tire of marveling at how all of Creation seems to know when dawn is arriving. There is a hush that comes across everything, signaling something grand. And then, softer than an infant's breath, yesterday is forever past and today has come.



Retreating west into the woods, I saw one of the dogwoods lifting its blossoms to the still-young sunlight.




And the apple trees are leafed out and ready to begin producing a feast for bee and horse and deer and Southerner.



Back down at the farmhouse, sleep still reigns. Such peace is precious because it is so fragile and fleeting. This very day may bring tragedy or gloomy sameness before it closes. But right now, at this moment, time is kind and quiet.






Finally back inside, I pour a cup and carry it and the old book outside, where I will read and sip and watch and listen.
Always, I am listening.


Make the most of the day, loved ones.