August settles and fades on this final day. The porch rests in dappled sunlight, light no longer committed to heating but only to illuminating. There was a full rain this past week. The grass ceased crunching like faded cinnamon and straw, donning instead a fresh superficial green. There’s enough moisture to endure until it snows.
The neighbor’s cat begins his daily search in the yard for the adventurous vole; a creature determined to bother. He’s on his own, that one. There is no sympathy here for any uninvited porch rodent.
Beloved Tio Victor Gonzalez; we buried him yesterday, lowered quietly into a grave under a brilliant blue early Autumn sky. Short in stature, he was grand in personality; playful, jolly, celebrating life daily with songs and happiness, with babies and puppies. This side of Heaven, he mastered 91 years in joy.
He rests peacefully and no one is worried. He knew his God and spoke freely of Him.
The ancients creep slowly down the stairs this morning; fragile and careful as gossamer and silk. They are well dressed and determined to drink their scalding black coffee. They wait for oatmeal while younger family members grab pastries. Every window in the house is open, gathering in fresh air and cool temperatures. The oven bears the weight of a heavy pork roast, and as time passes the smells drift out to the yard edges and lap over the sidewalk. Someone may inquire, ‘What are you cooking in your house?’ But for now, the street remains silent.
Potatoes and apples for potato salad, wind chimes and garlic, the advancing school year…and the Ancient of Days…the creation is magnificent and here we sit in the middle of it all…there are no ordinary people.
Imago Dei…there are no ordinary people.
690 Saint Paul 