It was a rare late November day, unusually warm and brightly lit — one that just begged for a walk.
Leaving the house, I encountered a small swarm of flies. They were flitting about, diving, circling and soaring in some agreed-upon space.
They intrigued rather than annoyed, as if they wanted one more romp before their winter disappearance.
Spindly shoots of grass stood in a bare spot in the yard. Like the little ones they were, they had no idea of the cold world that would descend upon them.
Somehow, though, they assured me they would still be there come March.
Going down the hill, I saw patches of wild timothy across the street. Their leaves now brown and their tasseled heads bent low. Was it surrender or homage?
Up in the woods, the bare sycamores took center stage. They stood majestically against the dark backdrop of hickory and oak, their bone-white limbs stretched out in glory and/or praise.
I passed three students, walking and laughing. Their mood was contagious. One of the girls was singing into her phone, “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”
Considering their age, I’ve probably waited longer in the doctor’s office.
Up on the playground, a young father pushed his son in a swing. I wondered if that was something his father did with him or if he found ways of blessing his son that his father wouldn’t understand.
The creek trickled along, waiting for the one good rain that would wash away fallen leaves, leaving a smooth surface ready for a hard freeze and the sliding races of neighborhood kids.
On the bank, the scarlet berries of the possumhaw glistened as a last reminder of a warmer season.
Across the field, a big man and his cane alighted from a truck, followed by his German shepherd. The dog took off, waited for the man, then took off again.
I don’t know if the man was walking the dog or the dog was walking the man. It looked a lot like friendship.
The setting sun shimmered off windows up on the hill, brilliantly lighting its crest. How many sunsets have I missed, or worse yet, have I seen but not allowed myself the awe of standing in front of the Master’s art?
In Genesis, it says that Enoch “walked with God, and he was no longer here, for God took him.”
I think I had a taste of that.