I heard voices yesterday. Get out and walk, said my muscles. Get some fresh air, screamed my lungs.
Summer's almost done, whispered my soul - get out and enjoy it. I put them off all day. Things to do. Places to go. People to see.
Towards evening I noticed the sky. Azure. Puffy clouds shifting at the whim of a gentle wind. The kind of sky small children behind school desks are likely painting this week. Additions to the perennial "My vacation..." series.
At dusk the Lord of that sky beckoned. A Holy Spirit breeze brushed my spirit. Come, Kathleen.So I pedaled down a country road last evening, somewhat reluctantly. My ancient narrow-tired bicycle travels poorly on gravel.
We rode a few miles, that cycle and I. Wobbled long among the pebbles. Off to the side, my shadow went first - woman on bike, sailing over wildflowers and hay, bobbed hair askew. The shadow didn't reflect my smile, but I felt it stretching. The rest of me agreed.
Good for us, said my muscles. Much better now, breathed my lungs. Ah... sweet summer, stay awhile, echoed my soul.
Driving under the influence of a country road is a heady thing. I pedaled past ponds and farmhouses.
Half-grown wheat and barley, white-blonde and nearly harvest-ready. I pedaled until the sun blazed like a live coal on the hearth of the sky. Until the clouds embered and the embers darkened.
I talked to God all down that road, wondering why I'd waited so long to share this soul-retreat with the one who'd made it all, and me too.
The blonde-maned pony nearly unseated me. Lead rope dangling, it charged out of the ditch near the end of a farmhouse lane. Dashing barely ahead, it stopped and glared. Dared me to pass.
I suspected that I'd spooked the animal; that it had been waiting for its rider when I'd rudely interrupted its grazing. Bicycles don't roll by there often.
Not wishing to be held responsible for a runaway horse, I stopped, dismounted, and walked forward, talking softly. The creature tolerated that - until I bent to pick up its rope. Pivoting fast, it turned its rear toward me, snorted, and began kicking air. I got the message and left the rope alone.
A young woman came out of the house right then. She called, her authoritative voice slicing through the quiet countryside. The pony whinnied an immediate response and galloped back down the lane. The girl hopped onto its bare back. I watched them disappear between white outbuildings, heading for pasture beyond, then turned and wove toward home myself.
Today, I ponder the voices that call us all. The ones we listen to and the ones we don't. Especially the one that can help us make sense of them all. The God we people of Christian faith often say we listen to - but even oftener, ignore. Our owner's voice.
Seems to me, that horse has lessons to teach. Like children, we need to return to learning.
