It feels as though the late afternoon sun has always invited me sit quietly and enjoy the feel of the day unwinding slowly. The day is somewhat like us, it starts off strong, young, fresh and presses on through in a hurry to get things done, the day wears on like only the determined can trudging on hour after hour, and then, comes the late afternoon. When the sun sits low, it casts interesting shadows; a slight breeze can help the bugs move about in a lethargic manner. A summer afternoon has always reminded me of a gentle old woman. I can feel the strength of her resolve to finish what she has started, yet to make it beautiful and pleasing to those who she loves. But, like all lives and days, they end. Whether the work is done or not, the night comes, there is no way that we can borrow minutes, hours, no, not even a few seconds from tomorrow.
There is a smell that crops emit when growing, it smells like a childhood, my own really. As a child I would sit by the field behind our house and smell the small cotton plants as they came in, I delighted to see the flower blooming so delicately. Often I wondered if God sat and watched me as well, if he knew what I smelled like. I wondered if anyone saw me, saw my intentions, my emotions, and my struggles. My concept of God was skewed to say the least; I only knew Him as a bit of an absentee landlord. Some days I begged to him, some days I was angry or just plain hating him. How can I say that you ask? How can I dare call him anything but perfect? No, there is nothing special about me that would give me the right to talk about our Creator that way, I was just very alone and unguided.
I wanted him to love me enough to protect me.
I am thinking of setting my sights on bigger things with my writing, so please pray that I have the time, energy and the wind at my back to get it started.
