MORNING RESPITE

I wish I had a time-lapse camera so I could show you the sunlight filtering across the hay field in the early morning. The hay is a sea of whispering gray green before the sun first peeks over the east horizon. Then, as first light filters through trees at the edge of the field, the tall grasses turn a rosy lavender. The sun continues to rise, and the field glows golden pink.

Finally, the sun clears the tops of the tall oak and maple and beech trees, and the entire field flames bright gold, like something out of a fairy story, great rolling Midas hills. Sunrise across the hay field is a crescendo of color, climaxing in a golden chord of good-morning Hallelujah.

Morning in the hay field in one of my very favorite times of the day.

This past weekend was busy and full and fun and exhausting. I crashed into bed Sunday night with the residue of a wicked headache and with so much left undone. Yesterday - Monday - I woke before the alarm went off, with a thousand and one To-Do-Todays already chattering in my head. It was going to be a hit-the-ground-running kind of day, a keep-running-all-day-long kind of day.

So I stumbled into the kitchen and started the coffee, then shuffled off to take a quick shower and to dress. Start a load of laundry, feed the cats, pack book bag and gym bag (yesterday was an out day), fill water bottles...quick! quick! quick!

As I stood at the kitchen sink filling water bottles, I glanced out the window at the hay field. The magic had just begun. My heart caught in my throat. My favorite time of day!

I remembered something important I needed to do at once, before the sun rose any higher, before grabbing breakfast and before packing the van. I grabbed my Bible and headed out to the porch swing.

The birds in the hay field are ecstatic, positively raucous in the early morning. Surround-sound music of the brightest, sweetest kind. God, all nature sings your glory!

The air in the hay field is cool and heady in the early morning, like the promise of baking bread or bee-brewed mead. Even the grass and the ground breathe perfumed praise to their Creator.

The light in the hay field in the morning is magical. And yesterday, I almost missed it.

The Song of Solomon speaks of a lover beckoning his beloved out into the fields. Come away with me!

Monday morning began tense with the demands of much to be done in a short amount of time. Until I looked out the window...

My Love is the fairest of ten thousand...