Time seems to “hang out” here in rural Virginia. It’s not that people have it, take it, or always use it wisely. But, it’s there, just waiting. I heard a story today about a lady who decided to clean the gravestones in her local cemetery. She spends 5-6 hours a day and will be working for another 3 years in order to finish. You see, she had a friend that died a couple of years ago and she is grieving in that special way that women do–whilst working to clean up the world.
Everything is old here. I’m talking American old, not European or African or Near East old. I traveled today on a road that was first mentioned in a 17th Century journal. I passed where John Smith was captured and saw a 255-acre family farm that was just sold to developers. Yes, there are developers here too.
The only things that don’t move slowly are sinners in a church pew, a redneck at the raceway complex, and the rain. It rains like 1000 ct. sheets coming down to blanket the earth. My American Flag that waves proudly outside my front door gets plenty of abuse from those split-second storms that only God could predict (and he doesn’t feel the need to give me inspiration about).
I like it. For a suburban girl who recently moved from an urban area, it feels like Sunday morning when church has been cancelled. The day seems to wait for you to decide what to do with it. And I guess it will have to continue to wait, because I can’t quite decide what to do today”¦
Have you?
I remember torrential downpours from my childhood. My parents and I would sit on our porch swing and watch the storm roll through. It was wonderful. It smelled wonderful, it brought buckets and buckets of water to our yard. I miss those downpours. They just don’t happen here.
Maybe it’s the mountains.
I admire that woman who is cleaning head stones for 5-6 hours a day. It must be very therapeutic. Hopefully more therapeutic than housecleaning anyway. If I had to do that 5-6 hours a day . . .well, this is a beautiful post and we won’t go there. It’s true though that women often do put their grieving energy into mounds and mounds of goodness! So many women to admire.
Justine, where was your childhood?
I miss those mountains, that’s where my childhood was spent. And when it rains in those mountains the smell is wonderful too. Seems like during our camping trips each summer we’d always have at least one big rain (nothing like the big rains in Virginia, but big for Utah) and it would wake up all the fragrance of the trees and the earth.
I just want to say that any day where it feels like Sunday morning when church has been cancelled is a good day.
I grew up in Georgia and Michigan, where you could watch the storms come across the flatlands for miles and miles, then watch them as they move away from you too. I miss the experience, but not the tornados!