Roiling mists, mingling colors, undulating shades of darkness or light.
I’m always driving toward it, but it’s never my destination. When I’m gardening, it encircles me. When I go for a walk, it scrolls by me. Do I always notice it? No, because I’m busy down here–we’re busy down here–scurrying, speeding, bustling. But this nature movie rolls on–even when no one is watching–in its own kind of busy.
And in its silence, it speaks.
Now I pay closer attention because I’d be rude to ignore the present, packaged in its cloudy wrapping. Minute by minute, the backdrop switches. I see Him unfurl the canvas, click through the slideshow, raise the shade to reveal something new behind it. The endless, morphing background for the photo shoot of life.
And in its silence, it speaks.
“I have to catch a pic of this,” I say to Flicka one day when the morning’s pinks are too electric to miss, the oranges too fiery to ignore. But my phone’s camera dulls the beauty, stealing its edge and muting its voice. I wrinkle my nose, annoyed, because I want a stunning photo to go with my blog entry.
“We can always photoshop it,” my girl says.
I shake my head. “I’ll figure out something else.”
My eyes are the best cameras, and my heart the best recording device.
I sit down to read, and of course it says what I see and hear.
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.
I gaze out the window at the sky again. And in its silence, it speaks.
Both pics above are from our Hawaii trip, 2021. No Photoshop needed.
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.