Treetop Light

August 19, 2019

The tops of the firs in front of our house are ablaze in sunlight, spikes of green against a cloudless blue sky, while further down, the evening shadows from the hill behind me are already climbing steadily up their trunks. The maple to my right is cloaked in a slowly fading day. Warmth that bathed my face only an hour ago has yielded to a faint cooling breeze. The bullfrog in the remnants of the pond opposite the driveway hasn’t yet struck up his song, galunking his seductive melody to whichever missus might be hopping by, but the crickets are in full chorus. My ears can only faintly pick out the sighing of the stream behind the garage.

It’s been an odd day, beginning ordinarily enough, having a leisurely breakfast with my wife and going to work before having one last fellowship meal with my friend George before he heads south tomorrow. At our ages, neither of us wants to think about what we both know—we may never see each other again, but at our ages, neither are we afraid to face reality. We’ve both seen things we wish we could unsee, and have traveled down roads better left less traveled. This is one of those roads, but travel it, we must, and travel it, we will.

A trip into town to replace the hearing aid that gave up the ghost last week proved futile, as the latest program that needs to be downloaded to it happens to reside in the computer at their other office in Westfield. I did manage to pick up the groceries on Linda’s list, however, and to got it all put away in her absence, as she is at pregnancy counseling training. Grandson Ian just left after applying the polyurethane to the keyboard tray of the computer desk he’s building, and I am just about ready to drive down to our men’s group at church. Emma is chasing and barking at some imagined intruder down at the creek. All is well. 

History is filled with people who one moment surveyed with peace and satisfaction what little realm they had, and the next, found themselves caught up in whirlwinds of tragedy and sorrow. I take none of this for granted. God hasn’t promised unbroken happiness and prosperity. He has promised his presence, guidance, peace, and strength for the paths we must walk. I am one of the fortunate few whose trail has led through primarily peaceful places. I hope to be faithful when the road turns to wind through the shadows. Like the trees towering above me, may my head remain bathed in sunlight even as the shadows surround me. And may I always remain thankful for days like today.