The Evergreen Journal #11 – Visibility – March 25, 2022
The Evergreen Journal #11
March 25, 2022
Visibility is low. The scene is subdued.
I feel like I am viewing a delicate landscape painting. The morning panorama was created by a highly skilled watercolor artist who carefully mixes the transparent colors of the low-key pigments.
This particular day looks fragile, yet it has a heft to it, like the heavy white handmade paper that absorbs the soft colors of the artist’s brush strokes.
Before dawn, I slipped my bare feet into my purple boots and put on my
soft grey jacket over my long floral nightgown. I walked onto the porch’s wooden planks with my two dogs as we do every morning.
As we padded down onto the sidewalk, I could feel cool raindrops splashing gently onto us. The droplets feel thicker than the mist. I knew instinctively it was the beginning of the predicted rainy day.
The early morning light is a soft grey wash. A highly skilled watercolor painter was at work just outside my office window. I see the stately Norway Maple tree that stands at attention like a watchman guarding the space between the prayer garden and the oversized black two-story barn.
In the distance, the low lighting flattens the surface of the painting because I can barely see the trees of the woods. It’s too early in the Spring season for leaves on the trees. Likewise, I cannot see the reflection of light on the water’s surface flowing downstream on the Connoquenessing Creek beneath the ridge. I listen for crows calling across the treetops, but all is quiet this morning. The only sound I can hear is the traffic splashing on the highway as it moves East and West across the bridge just beyond the house.
I pause for a moment, pull my shoulders back, and am conscious of my breath.
I breathe deeply as I inhale my breath and hold it for a few seconds. My body connects to my mind, and my thoughts expand with every breath. I silently say, “thank you, God, for breath.”
I can feel the breath filling my lungs as my diaphragm expands. As I take another breath, I lift my hands upwards and move them slowly downwards as I exhale. Finally, I close my eyes and whisper, “This is a good day, Lord. I thank you now for this quiet time with You in the early morning.”
Days like this one seem fragile and sensitive. This will be a good day for doing something personal and private or going out with a friend to get a pedicure.
I know that it won’t be long until the days are much brighter, and I will be going out to begin the spring clean-up in the yard and flower gardens.
_©2022. Lynda McKinney Lambert. All Rights Reserved.
What is the VIEW outside YOUR WINDOW today?
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