Here and Now

A few weeks ago, Baby Girl the Second and I accompanied my husband on a business trip/vacation . Despite long hours in the car and the challenges of helping a nervous child navigate strange beds and unfamiliar restaurants, it was a wonderful trip.

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We saw the Independence Day fireworks over the Mississippi River in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

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In Greenville, South Carolina, BGS mustered the nerve to make it all the way to the top of the climbing structure in the Children’s Museum, I sat on the bank and put my feet in the Reedy River,

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we hand-fed bison from the safari bus, and joined a friend to watch the longest minor-league baseball game any of us had ever seen.

We saw elk just yards off the Blue Ridge Parkway as we drove to Tapoco Lodge, deep in the mountains on the North Carolina/Tennessee border. We chased fireflies beside the Cheoah River.

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We spent a beautiful day in Cades Cove, and an exciting one at Dollywood. We navigated the stretch of road known as the Tail of the Dragon – 138 crazy twists and hairpin turns in an 11-mile stretch – several times by day and once by thick dark night.

By the seventh day, Baby Girl was missing home, and I too had started thinking about the road back – and all the things to be dealt with on our return to the “real” world. But as I sat on the porch in the still of sunrise the next morning, the cool air and the trees and the goldfinches and the river all singing together brought me back to the moment, to the glorious richness of right here, this very now.

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Shadows lie ahead,
yes. But see how that branch is
dancing in the breeze,
easily bearing its own
weight, and the finches’ as well?

~ Rebekah Choat

Icons, Part Two

image by Joel Brotzman-Gonzales

image by Joel Brotzman-Gonzales

As far back as I can hear in my memory, I have known the call of the mourning dove. From the time I was a tiny little girl sitting on the front porch while Grandma did the early-morning watering, to this morning forty-five years later, sitting on the back patio after doing the early-morning watering, that melancholy, infinitely soothing three-note trill has sounded in my ears, as familiar as my own heartbeat and sometimes as unnoticed, and as centering and reassuring when I listen for it. It is perhaps as close as I can imagine the voice of God, murmuring over and over, “I am here, I am here,” here in this world that is bent and broken but never abandoned; swollen with sorrow, swallowed up by joy poignant as grief.

Song from Pippa Passes

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

The year’s at the spring
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn:
God’s in His heaven—
All’s right with the world!

~ Robert Browning, born May 7, 1812

Good Omens

Rain fell today through shining sun,
and the season’s first hummingbird
drank deep, unafraid, just outside
the kitchen window.

I believe these are good omens.

~ Rebekah Choat

Rain Reflections

image by Rebekah Choat

image by Rebekah Choat

Dirty old alley
Pools of water left standing
by a morning rain

Placid reflections
of azure rain-washed skies
above traffic’s noise

Room to fly freely
without thought in the heavens
with clean air to breathe

Open skies mirrored
in pools left in the alley
by a morning rain.

~ Rebekah Choat