For days, rain has fallen on the rabbit patch. The sun managed to bring a golden glow to the early service, and that was lovely. It was a quiet time as not even the mockingbird sang. The air was as still as it has ever been. I thought “Silence is golden” this morning.
After coffee, I went straightaway to the storage unit, which is on the property. This is where Christmas decorations and boxes of trophies my four sons earned in decades of soccer, are stored. There are a lot of other things, too. This is the same barn that housed the second broken washing machine. I sorted through boxes and found some useful items for donation. There was a new toaster amongst other things. I quickly had a collection suitable for donation. I can only work in short spurts there, as I am apt to find something I have attached a memory to and stop to cry, a bit. I have always been sentimental. The hardest job ahead of me, is removing the rack of my paternal grandmothers’clothes. They are in pristine condition and ought to be in someones’ closet. I attempted this a few days ago without success. I know for certain, that my grandmother would chide me for such foolish behavior-and it does seem sinful, to withhold such nice things, that another may need. Yet, when I hold the dress she wore to Christians’ baptism or a sweater she always wore at Christmas, I lose all sensibility and weep. There isn’t a bit of logic in this, except that I am very, very human with a very tender heart. Kyle and Christian are no better candidates for this than I am and if they cry . . .well, I will “take to the bed”.
In the Afternoon
By noon, everything had been collected and loaded. I had worked mechanically and made good progress. When, all was said and done, I realized how easy it had been to give the pretty china away, after all.
Kyle rode with me to drop off the many boxes. It is a short ride down country roads to the church, where I sometimes donate. In late fall, the church hosts the biggest yard sale in eastern North Carolina. The money raised is used to put on an outdoor drama that is quite impressive. There is no admission fee and folks come from out of state to see it.
The countryside told a late summer story, as I drove through it. It was illustrated with warm colored grasses wearing crowns of seeds. The leaves on the trees were a dark green, unlike the light jade leaves in June. The still air rendered the trees stoic statues , on this day. Here and there bright yellow wildflowers bloomed and many of the wild southern vines sported plum colored leaves. These are the clocks I abide by. . . and they say it is late summer ,
It is supposed to rain today and the next several, as well. I start work on Thursday. Thankfully, the tasks left to complete at the rabbit patch are manageable. Of course, I plan to cook and to finish Alcotts’ “Calico Bush”. If all goes well, there will be an old classic film to watch. . .or several. I am debating about whether or not to paint the living room. Of course, it is a large room . . . with a high ceiling. In addition to a mild case of impetigo, fire ant bites and scratches from some hateful thorns, I will probably return to school with paint in my hair, too.
Dear Diary, I am glad for silence and golden light. I am glad that the earth reminds us to be still and I am glad for a grandmother, that lived-and loved well.