Another day to wait until the prompt comes. Here is a photo that one of my boys took last summer.
1. The hymn sing at Freiman Stoltzfus’s Gallery last night. We sat on wooden benches like in a Mennonite meetinghouse. The music was palpable; I think I could taste it, smell it, see the colors of it washing against the walls catching the rich brilliance of Freiman’s paintings. It is still clinging to me this morning. All those voices, harmonies. Strangers and friends giving our voices to each other. I don’t know how to explain why this is so, but it seemed like a healing act, like sound therapy for a hurting world, pushing back the vicious shadow.
2. All the humming that happens in my house. Yesterday, Jon was changing laundry in the basement, and I could hear him humming through the floorboards. At the same time, a boy was humming to himself while he read back issues of This Old House. The other boy was making a fanciful helicopter of Legos, and humming a third thing to himself.
3. The twin red maples near that one industrial plant on Route 30. Every day I pass them twice. All the other trees have either dropped their leaves completely, or left the season of brilliance behind. Not these folks. Their shades of scarlet and orange pulse and shimmer, especially in these grey days. The dryads seem to have something to tell us.
4. Yesterday I read about a woman–an American–who gathered baby carriers and took them to Macedonia, where she waits for the ferry from Lesbos and fits them on families with babies and toddlers. She spoke of the relief in the eyes of parents who now had free hands to care for their older children, of the father who could not stop kissing the tiny head now tucked safely beneath his chin. Bless the helpers.
5. The peacemakers are rising.
Join hands. Rise up. Walk in Love.