We begin our
day without words, unaccustomed to quiet.
Gathered together in the dining room, the clinking of utensils on plates and soft thuds of mugs set on tables is the music of our common life, missed when thoughts are spoken.
Sleepy eyes averted and tentative smiles are given in greeting.
Gratitude in spoken blessing and the unspoken, “Amens.”
Kindred spirits communing in the richness of breakfast silence.
Gathered together in the dining room, the clinking of utensils on plates and soft thuds of mugs set on tables is the music of our common life, missed when thoughts are spoken.
Sleepy eyes averted and tentative smiles are given in greeting.
Gratitude in spoken blessing and the unspoken, “Amens.”
Kindred spirits communing in the richness of breakfast silence.
I heard them
before opening my eyes, mighty gales and downpours at first light.
Grey is the sky and river, dark the mountains and mist fills the valley,
damp chill in the soggy, saturated air.
The towhee’s whistle and blue jay’s raucous cries punctuate the background murmur of ground crickets and rain falling on the land and my umbrella.
Reddening sumacs, yellow goldenrods and the tiny white asters dance in the wind, oaks and ashes waving their arms wildly in the wetness.
Rainy, windy autumn morning full of promise, pregnant with the possibilities of the unknown, gift of another day.
Grey is the sky and river, dark the mountains and mist fills the valley,
damp chill in the soggy, saturated air.
The towhee’s whistle and blue jay’s raucous cries punctuate the background murmur of ground crickets and rain falling on the land and my umbrella.
Reddening sumacs, yellow goldenrods and the tiny white asters dance in the wind, oaks and ashes waving their arms wildly in the wetness.
Rainy, windy autumn morning full of promise, pregnant with the possibilities of the unknown, gift of another day.
“What am I
called to let go of, so I can fully live this present hour of my life?” she
asked us.
Without umbrella, I was eagerly looking forward to seeing the pond, when the drops began again,
Slowly at first, tap, tap, tapping on the still-green leaves, as I turned back.
I came expecting the crimsons, oranges, yellows and purples of last year.
I looked forward to seeing migrating warblers and the frenzied chipmunks again,
but all I saw was a gathering of tiny gnats, zigzagging around in circles on the underside of yellow birch leaves.
I thought I might hear God speak out here…something profound, soul-searching, challenging.
Instead, I hear silence…abundant, enfolding, nurturing silence, except for the tapping of the rain on the trees.
Sacraments of the present moment.
Slowly at first, tap, tap, tapping on the still-green leaves, as I turned back.
I came expecting the crimsons, oranges, yellows and purples of last year.
I looked forward to seeing migrating warblers and the frenzied chipmunks again,
but all I saw was a gathering of tiny gnats, zigzagging around in circles on the underside of yellow birch leaves.
I thought I might hear God speak out here…something profound, soul-searching, challenging.
Instead, I hear silence…abundant, enfolding, nurturing silence, except for the tapping of the rain on the trees.
Sacraments of the present moment.
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