Autumn

Autumn

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Quiet Time

Sunday by design is a day for rest, quiet time. It's dark and gloomy and I hear distant thunder and light rain like lead shot pelt the roof. Makes me want to build a fire and sip coffee and wish for cold weather as an excuse to wrap myself in an old wool blanket. To settle in with a novel and pretend to read when really I'd rather nap.

Soon, autumn leaves will begin the journey down, bits and pieces of amber and brown and red closely followed by northern winds, the official signal for the best time of the year. My favorite. I believe it's written upon Hemingway's grave marker, 'Best of all he loved the Fall.' I understand.


This morning, after church and fried chicken, we drove home under black threating skies. Sweet Wife asked what I'd like to do today. My first thought was to finish in the garage. I'd worked and sorted odd clutter for several hours well into the night and wanted to reorganize my ammunition and reloading supplies. I voiced this to her. She frowned. Not a good sign.

A mile or so down the road she took note of the weather and suggested perhaps my idea held merit. Now, she sits to my left deep into her bible study.  Over the last few months she's sought solace in her religion and it seems to have worked miracles; she's at peace and for this I am grateful and attend church with her even if I am found on the pew with my Kindle lost within its digital pages.

Yes, I listen to the sermon. It is possible and I have proved one can chew gum and walk with coordination. Once upon a time a friend found it quite shocking that I attended church. He asked if the candles flickered when I entered the sanctuary. I said, for the record, they indeed dimmed on occasion. He asked what had changed me. I said, "A little girl came into my life."

As I type I hear the rain as it hits my old metal wash tub I have hung on the back fence. It reminds me of my days of youth on the farm. Whenever I'd see the weather turn towards wet I'd head straight to the barn. Our barn had a metal roof and if you were able to find a clean spot of hay it made for the best bed in town. The hard southern thunderstorms made for a wonderful late afternoon sleep. 

I suppose I've made a liar of myself. I haven't ventured near the garage and my chores. It's too peaceful to work. Instead I think I'll head to the kitchen and build a pot of coffee return and pretend to read a book. But you and I both know it'll be cover for a nap. After all, the rain won't last forever.

Or will it.

Stephen


 
 



19 comments:

  1. What beautiful words Stephen - you've seen way too much rain

    "A Little Girl Came into My Life" - and in that time you had she saw the man she made you, and even as she said goodbye that last time, there was that indisputable recognition between you, so that she would know for sure and forever, how much you love her.

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    1. Thank you, dear lady...nothing special I just felt like rambling. You are correct, though, I'm very tired of the rain in my life.

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  2. We've had frequent rains here too, but not the kind you've been getting. Reading is a wonderful way to pass a rainy afternoon.

    Little Bit won't forget you, and you WILL see her again.

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    1. From you lips to God's ear, my friend. Thank you so very much...

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  3. When I went to church I used to sit in the back and color. It kept me out of the trouble

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  4. Like you, I loved the weather today. However, I cooked & canned while husband worked in the yard. A perfect Sunday!

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    1. I understand we'll have more of the same tomorrow, Sweet One. Get ready to can. Thanks, my lovely friend.

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  5. Stephen, this was a nice read, I can see every bit of it in my mind. It has been so long since we had rain, I've forgotten what the sounds and smells of it are like. Thanks for reminding me.

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    1. My pleasure, Bubba. Thank you and I'll slip on my loincloth and do a rain dance for you.

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  6. dear sweet one, i love the smell of the rain, the sound of it on the roof, the sound of it filling rainbarrels and the feel of it on my naked skin as i a run around and dance in the mud. this post is one of a group of your best...i love your "reminiscing/remembering" posts.

    i am glad that Sweet Wife is finding solace in her Bible and at church...and i am glad that you go with her. she needs this right now and i encourage her to lean on the Lord.

    i sure do hope that you got that nap. much love to you and SW...and "your heart" is never far from my thoughts. your friend,
    kymber

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    1. What a nice comment, thank you. I write these little bits of ramble when I'm lost for better subject matter...nothing special really...take care my lovely friend.

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  7. you sure have a gift with words =- honest and haunting.. your memories are VERY vivid.. you describe things amazingly well my friend.

    all the best to you!

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    1. Thank you, my friend, and all the best to you both.

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  8. Sometimes, your writing approaches the level that Brigid's posts occupy. This was one of those.

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    1. Borepatch, I agree with you on that. That does indeed put ole Stephen in a rare patch of air. Not many people can occupy that space, but those two do soar higher than the rest of us.

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    2. Borepatch, my good friend, I appreciate the compliment but in truth Brigid is in a class all her own. I'll never come close to her talent. I've always admired her and her work. She sets the standard.
      Thank you, Swamp Dog, my friend. Like I said, I just ramble. God bless you both.

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  9. He asked if the candles flickered when I entered the sanctuary.

    :)

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    1. Thank you, my friend....a smile is always welcomed. Take care.

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