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I love my drive to work. With the exception of about eight miles, it’s mostly rural roads (back and cross). It’s fifty miles of curves and shadows, branches low enough to block radio signals and time enough to reflect on both the ‘leaving from’ and the ‘going to’. It is a blessing – this God’s light.
This morning, there was a steady rain and at the ‘nearly light’ time of my passing, dawn glistened in silver pools on blacktop.
There’s a place where I always go especially slow, for I’ve found it to be a favorite crossing for deer. On more than one occasion, I’ve spotted them in advance of the curve as they traveled down the sloping hills to the left. I stop as they move independent (some quickly, some hesitantly) into the road and then across, and up…… More than once they’ve stopped mid-road to watch me (as I watch them). When I become concerned for their safety, I roll down the window and call, ‘you best be moving on’. Some snort and others seem to nod their heads before continuing; before I put the car back into drive, caught within a moment’s prayer of gratitude for this place where our lives (our lines) knotted together.
But back to this morning. The rain was shining, and in an area of winding roads and hillsides, I’m amazed I could see far enough to catch the blue streamers off the cruiser at a distance. I slowed, unsure of what to expect, but fearful of what I might find. It was near the ‘crossing’.
I made my way, slower than usual, only to discover a tiny red car with the frontend smashed sitting at an angle in front of the police car. And in the road, a friend lay still no more than a foot from the white line. She looked to be at peace, and I was grateful for anything the rain had washed away. I scanned both banks, wondering where the others were. Almost always, there were three or four together*. Might they be standing just beyond the veil of rain, waiting for the intruders to leave?
I don’t know. I rolled my window down, sticking my head out into the shower. “I will never forget you.” For several miles, I can’t be sure whether my face was damp from the rain, or from my tears. Somehow, both tasted the same.
Surely, some would tag me a fool, but it wouldn’t change the things I know in my heart. We belong to one another, and when nature cries, we cry. When nature breaks, we break.
Perhaps Monday, I’ll bring a bunch of newly budding wildflowers.
o babe of mine
denied my voice –
swing low your ancient cradle
as bunting falls
from candles – blue divine
to fuse these times
with essence
reminders of our days
are spilled between
our fingers –
holy thine
. . .
*A little known fact – Among whitetail deer, triplet fawns can occur from time to time, and more often than you might think. Most does will have a single fawn their first time giving birth, and then have twins from there on out as long as they live. Of the twins, a high percentage are one each, buck and doe.
stunning…your writing opens like sun after rain…..
Thank you, my friend. Let us ever give thanks for the abundance so many have forgotten how to see. This incident stayed with me through the day and into the night. Before bed, a prayer for rich fields and sweet sweet pastures. ~ Love you always. ~ Bobbie
I am so glad you did not have an accident! The way you described your drive, I felt like I was there. The poem is beautiful! Have a very blessed weekend!
Thank you, Wendell. Whenever I hear that they’re building a new road (get you there faster), I think ‘I must find another way to work’. And immediately I think to those who won’t know the road is coming or what it means. The men in my family have hunted most of their lives (for food, not sport), and I understand the need for such. Without the hunters, the population of whitetail deer would be beyond the ability of the land to sustain them. And the more highways, subdivisions, and shopping malls, the land needed dwindles. When God gave us dominion, did He know such a time would come, or does He pray still that we find within us the connection to all that is love? May your weekend be a blessing to you, and all those who hold you dear. ~ Love, Bobbie
That connection to nature is so precious, yet it can hurt sometimes. Beautiful writing Bobbie, both the poetry and the prose. The spiritual meaning of deer is gentleness, and you have honoured this quality so beautifully here. Love to you. xo
O, Angela, it hurts all the time……….except when it soars! Thank you, my precious friend. ~ Always my love knows your name. ~ Bobbie
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As always, that connection is real and here so very heartfelt. Love to you, Bobbie
….and returned to you across these sweet southern miles………. Thank you, Cindy. Always, your heart speaks to me. ~ Love, Bobbie
We feel, through your words, we feel once again. We are one with nature. Love alwasy Bobbie, you are so special. Xxx
Thank you, Jane……… Always, I am grateful for your light against my soul. I am blessed by the gift that is you and your love. ~ Bobbie
Very touching, I am moved by the imagery. Thank you, mary
Dearest Mary, your heart overflows with such sweet grace. Thank you hardly seems enough………and yet, I do. Thank you, my friend. ~ Always just this – love, Bobbie
I’m envious of your transit, Bobbie. So you must live out in the wilderness… that’s really nice. The long drives it entails is surely worth it. 🙂
Maybe you can put up some pictures of these places you mention. I for one would love to see.
As for the one that was taken away… There might be better things… we can hope, yes?
– v
Thank you, Vimal. I suppose some would consider it a wilderness although I don’t really. It is much less rural than the area I grew up……….but compared to most of the world, it is……….for it reminds us of another time (or perhaps a future time). Regardless the ways between, Nature always wins……..and our sweetest passage, those when Nature touches us. I should do that……and promise to soon. Note to self: Replace camera batteries today. 🙂 Love to you, my forever friend. ~ Bobbie
okay, looking forward to it. 🙂
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always you are light, Cindy
The opening paragraphs sang of an idyllic drive – a lovely time to savour, reflect and prepare. And such wonderful friends crossing one another’s path.
The second half – what a dreadful accident. And you’re right, Bobbie, the rain was helpful.
As a kid when grief overwhelmed, I would take long walks in the rain – to hide and to hide.
Your post revealed what a caring and kind soul you are.
Peace and all good blessings,
Eric
Thank you, Eric. My mother still tells stories of waking to find me gone……….knowing I had gone walking………into the night, the rain, the woods. I think it served as a reminder to her that I was not hers…….but merely on loan. Sometimes, still at night, I go home – to that same place you know.
There is nothing quite so clearing as tears welcomed by the rain. Thank you, Eric. ~ Ever love, Bobbie