Saturday, June 25, 2011

Another son, another moment

We cleared the dishes and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the others to come downstairs to play an after dinner game.  We noticed the pink glow of sky beyond the trees out back and decided to take a walk up the street to the top of the hill to see the sunset.

Our house is in a bit of a valley, surrounded by tall oaks, hickories and poplars.  We don't have a vista. The only spot along our road where we can see for any distance is the power cut under the high tension lines.  Not so scenic.  Still, we can climb the gully-scarred red clay hill and watch the sunset to the west ... and that's something.

As Matthew and I walked up the road last night, we noticed the colors.  I pointed to one spot that was turning my favorite color, a saturated aqua sky blue (there must be a name for this color) and M pointed to a spot that was softly fading from peach into blue.

Atop the hill, I picked a couple of handfuls of ripe blackberries and we shared them, gazing to the west, power lines and the roofs of ticky-tack suburban houses that have sprung up in a farmer's field since we moved here strung across our sunset.   The colors were stunning and the tall hardwoods along the distant hills between us and the city blurred like a rolling mountain range.

Matthew and I both read Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, a few months back and he reminded me of the subtitle: Wide-Eyed Wonder in God's Spoken World.  Last night we stepped out the door and walked up the street to the top of a rather unsightly hill  - and that's what we had, wide-eyed wonder.  The man-made, banal, and unattractive didn't go away.  It just faded to insignificance in that moment in the glory of the God-made, extraordinary, radiant.

We stood on the hilltop awash in color and my son put his arm across my shoulders.  

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