- Bluebelle, Books, Daily Life, Dixee, Holy Days, Jinx, Mrs. Orr, Photographs, Quotations, Reflections
Like Most Others
Today started out like most other Sundays. Mid-morning, all the dogs wanted outside, so I let them out while I was preparing breakfast for the missus and me. A few minutes after the dogs went out, I heard what sounded like the spotted twins a-rasslin’ on the porch and didn’t pay it much attention. But a minute later, I heard Dixee’s shrill shriek of pain and went running. Jinx was holding her down with one paw and Bluebelle’s snout was buried in the fur on the right side of Dixee’s throat. When I burst out of the back door, bellowing and cursing, the twins scattered. Dixee was flailing around on…
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Month Half Done
Yesterday was as fine as a day could be, and today was its equal. Saturday a shining, sunny snapshot of purest gold, with wind and leaves, the symbols of death and change in the living air. Sunday a cloudy, rainy room of adoration and reflection. We are aware of how rare such days are, and this awareness made them all the more precious to us as we passed through our weekend, holding hands, joking, laughing, choking up in emotional pauses, quiet conversations, silent hours of reading next to each other with snoring dogs all around us, barbecuing chicken, baking pecan pies, rehashing last night’s dreams, taking our naps, cleaning out…
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Almost A Lot of Things
The other morning I bent to get a watering can so I could give some of my wife’s porch flowers a drink. When I looked down at the can, I saw movement inside. A butterfly was marooned inside, flapping its wings with less-than-vigorous motion. I reached in and scooped the little fellow up, then held him before my face. I have no way to prove this, but I could tell that the butterfly was exhausted. I held him on my hand for a minute, then called to Mrs. Orr and asked her to hold him on her palm so I could have some perspective for a photo. She whispered to…
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Snippets
I let the dogs out into the back yard while my wife was drying her hair tonight, just as full dark settled down onto the green slopes. Looking north, I saw a series of silent flashes, looking just like artillery does from a distance. But the boom-boom-booms never came, never rolled towards me. Silent and silver. Heat lightning. I opened the door and called to Mrs. Orr, and she came outside. After we watched for a minute, I took two chairs down into the yard and we sat for a while and watched the quiet light show, including the lightning bugs that danced in the woods and along the fenceline.…
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Brevities
This morning my wife headed down into town. She had only been gone about fifteen minutes, and I had just poured myself another cup of coffee and wedged myself between the spotted twins on the couch when my phone rang. It was Mrs. Orr, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I heard her address me by the term of affection the grandchildren use, PeePaw, and I heard something in her voice and said, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” And I listened as she told me that she had just gotten down to the bottom of the mountain and was near our little post office when two deer streaked out…
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Enmity Between
The first day of summer yesterday, and it felt like it. A heavy miasma of humidity hung over these mountains for the past four days, perhaps to be broken up tonight by the rain falling just now. The temperatures are supposed to be milder today, and perhaps the creatures of the land will calm down and be less restive. I celebrated Father’s Day by being snakebit. The dogs were at the side of the house, barking at something and giving it Hail Columbia when my wife went to investigate. She returned with the news that a snake was under one of the blueberry bushes. When I reached the scene, I…
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Layksuh Hayull
I sat outside this morning with bible, breviary, and notebook, my coffee steaming in the cool and sugared mugginess of the day’s initial pages. Up in the woods in the direction of the new-born sun, a screech owl called, sounding as always like a tiny spectral horse whinnying. His appearance is early this year; I usually don’t hear the screech owls until mid-to-late September. And I sat and sipped and wondered if his eerie song was considered a harbinger in the mythos of any peoples. The squadron of the buzzing bullets we call hummingbirds were about their business, and watching them reminded me of something from my pilgrimage to Gethsemani…