it’s big.
it’s green.
it’s got the hymn I want in it,
and it’s hiding.
it’s big.
it’s green.
it’s got the hymn I want in it,
and it’s hiding.
At last. I can stay.
Nineteen years of background stress gone in an instant.
yet another non-theological post…
but for this: pondering your death is a classic spiritual discipline.
So, imagine the scene:
me, my car, and a very very steep driveway.
Ahead, a man and his dog.
To the side, a sort of cliff edge.
Below, perfectly smooth black ice, slick with tension.
We skid slowly and gracefully off the edge of the road, as I tried simultaneously to steer back from the spin and to aim for the rhododendron (the other option being a car-length drop and flip into the neighbour’s garden).
All day since, Emily Dickenson on my mind.
(man, dog, car, rhododendron and I are all fine, by the way. But nine hours later, it still feels all too close.)
I think I have said this before — but I believe deeply and truly that snow is created to make us slow down.
So here I sit, watching the cat watching the birds.
I have declared it a snow day.
There is no reason in the world that I couldn’t do 8, 10, 12 hour work today without setting foot outside. But that would be to miss the point of this rare white sabbath.
The vestry might — might — get their agenda tonight. But maybe not.
Tomorrow normal things can resume.