Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Shrill Crickets

Sounds, not words, are my one-year-old's noises of choice.  Ezra can say hot, blueberry, bed, hat, and especially Mommy and Daddy; however, he prefers shriller means of communication.  And that communication is more constant than my three-year-old's repetitive questioning - you know, the infamous why stage.  With such chaos in the household, nature's bounty of beautiful sounds is often overwhelmed - even when we go outside.

And yet, with a cup of hot tea wafting ginger, orange, and mint, I sat in a chair and stared at the purple mountain's gentle slope.  Red and yellow flowers cheered the scene, while droning bees licked nectar.  A breeze rattled metal chimes hanging along the front porch; chickens cackled with gusto to start the day; the crickets' chords were plentiful!  Entranced by the symphony, I cried.  Not just because it had been weeks since I had drenched myself in nature's voice, but also because so many negative memories and unkind comments harassed my mind of late.

Does this happen to you, friend?  Too late, do you find yourself drifting away from your perceived course and floating into a zone of bluebottles, whose pain-inflicting tentacles hide just below the water's sheen? 

As summer gives way to autumn, I find the promise of change thick in the air.  May change scour our hearts in order to bring about a new rhythm in our lives - one that whispers love and joy and hope.  And, may such renewed heart songs help our ears to light upon less shrill chords.

1 comment:

  1. As always, I felt like I was enjoying the day sitting there with you. You have a real gift.
    Thanks for sharing.



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