August 08, 2011

Sitting on a Porch, Facing East.

Sitting on a porch, facing east. The melody of rain rustles the leaves, punctuated by the chair rocking back and forth on the tile floor--a not quite regular beat.  You feel the faintest breeze, a quick relief of the mounting pressure in the air.  It is cooler inside, but you don't want to miss the sound of the crickets when the rain stops; feisty and persistent, they outdo one another in pitch.  And inside you wouldn't notice the gentle golden light as the clouds part briefly for the sun. You think you're safe from the mosquitos, here behind the screen, but one finds you (they always do), and you flinch from the sting. You set aside your book, and sit, savoring the heat, the discomfort, the beauty, the light.

If you were a poet, inspired by Sunday's lesson, you might liken this stillness to the Lord visiting Elijah in a whisper. But your weary mind can't make the analogy fit, and anyway there's nothing especially transcendent about this moment. It seems decidedly earthy. This odd mixture of peace and pain: you can't make sense of it, but you're glad you're awake enough to see.


  1. Amen to that.

  2. Oh, I love this post. you have captured the moment so well.. I want to be there, too. Sipping iced tea and thinking about Elijah.