Saturday, February 23, 2008

Reverent Moments

Some times are better than others and having walked Duncan at nearly all times I know which I prefer.

I prefer the morning times when the world is quiet and the sky is newly blue and the birds are singing, when steps echo across the walk and the jingle of Duncan's leash is like music. The people we pass on those walks are the kindest, friendliest of all, eager to greet and stop and exchange talk while our dogs sniff and tangle their leashes, forcing their caretakers to shuffle and move, exchange leashes, bend and spin, a dance for their quiet enjoyment.

I prefer afternoons in Summer when I can wear flips flops and get my feet green, when I lay down in the grass and roll with Duncan while he chews on a stick or his green ball, tolerant of my play, patient with me and happy to be sharing moments under warm skies.

I prefer times when the light is gold and the sun is caught between the horizon and a band of clouds. If it has just rained the air is rich and sweet with all the scents of the day floating at dog level. If Duncan steps in the mud his foot leaves the cleanest little imprint, a reminder, if only for a day or two, that we passed this way.

I prefer the time just after the sun has set, when the sky is blue, an inky blue and not yet dark, when the last rays of the sun are able to catch the few clouds above and paint them bright pink, patches on the quilt of advancing night.

I prefer Autumn days when the trees rain leave on us and Duncan dances to catch them, snapping all around his head. The air is cinnamon and warm and tree bark smells like chocolate.

I prefer the moments just after the snow has started, when each flake still makes a sound as it hits the earth, when you can hear the faint melting and when the ground swallows the storm.

There is reverence in these moments that I have never found in a church.

1 comment:

Kevi said...

J. 324

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church --
I keep it, staying at Home --
With a Bobolink for a Chorister --
And an Orchard, for a Dome --

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice --
I just wear my Wings --
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton -- sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman --
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at least --
I'm going, all along.

-Emily Dickinson