Morning

I rise before dawn to sit with God in the water and say goodnight to the stars. Thick clouds roll in from the southwest, bringing rain for this afternoon. A white-hot sliver of moon kisses my eye and climbs quickly behind the gray, and where the sky peeks through, my personal shade of blue pales into the one the birds prefer. The moon has gone, but rosy clouds and lightening skies assure me the sun still shines. The callas and the tulips knew all along, and smile good morning.

An old cowboy tipped his hat to me today

An old cowboy tipped his hat to me today, and with that silent act of grace he blessed my day. A quiet man, sitting out to watch the sky, frost still on the grass of his mother’s suburban home. She died last week, at 92, and we are the keepers of her stories. He has stories too, though I don’t know them. I only know my friend loved her son, and that is enough to be his friend.

Lee’s a poet, and a cowboy, complete with the Marlboro and the match. He’s here from Rocklin to bid Lillian goodbye, and Sandy, a mustang he has gentled, waits for his return. His Rocklin used to be open pastures and bright blue sky, but it has changed. I was just there this past weekend. Now it’s full of new houses and new stores, and busy families just trying to make their way. Trying to live their stories out, learning to love and forgive and tell the truth, just as Lillian and Al did here so many years ago. I am grateful for these new stories too, and the privilege of witnessing them. Regular folks in the heroic quests of life. A young man valiantly making his way through the high school play even though he’s lost his voice – which spoke louder than words to me. Others snort coke at the corner before their college classes begin – if that gets them through class, what will get them through life? What will their stories be – and who will hear them?

Lee will go north after we celebrate Lillian’s life and friendship, bound not for Rocklin, but North Dakota, taking his parents home in small boxes. This is likely to be his final quest. His own health is not very good. He’s found peace, though, and grace to share. I’m just glad I stopped to say “Hi”, and sorry that I did not have more time, to hear his stories, and see his sky. I was rushing off all too quickly, off to work, where I love children and teach them to love stories.