The cicadas hum rises and falls in the oaks, and a lonely mourning dove coo coo coos in the distance. I'm still, and the sound takes me back to a country road in Southern Ohio. I'm just a young girl of maybe six on a bicycle peddling as hard as I can trying to go up a hill to a place where I think a picnic waits. The foliage is dense on the roadside, and the smell of earth and green and damp fill the air. My lungs labor and my plumb legs tremble, but I think I made it to the top of the hill and rode down the other side to years later.
I'm in the nursery in the sweltering, hot afternoon. Sweat is running in my eyes and the soft skin on my arms burn from the cutting sawgrass blades and salt. I'm loading a truck with flats of plants, shipping them out to reclaim the earth. Sometimes I burst into song to break the monotony. The work is hard, but it feels good somehow, satisfying. The shady oaks bring relief, but only a little, and the sound of the cicadas rise and fall. The truck fills up and the ground empties. I hear the whir rise and fall, rise and fall. The truck fills up and drives down the dirt road, turning left on the highway heading for the future.
The cicadas hum rises and falls, and a lonely mourning dove coos in the distance; I'm still. I close my eyes and the soft sound of the whirring cicadas take me into the presence of God dropping me off on His porch for awhile. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise and fall.
I'm in the nursery in the sweltering, hot afternoon. Sweat is running in my eyes and the soft skin on my arms burn from the cutting sawgrass blades and salt. I'm loading a truck with flats of plants, shipping them out to reclaim the earth. Sometimes I burst into song to break the monotony. The work is hard, but it feels good somehow, satisfying. The shady oaks bring relief, but only a little, and the sound of the cicadas rise and fall. The truck fills up and the ground empties. I hear the whir rise and fall, rise and fall. The truck fills up and drives down the dirt road, turning left on the highway heading for the future.
The cicadas hum rises and falls, and a lonely mourning dove coos in the distance; I'm still. I close my eyes and the soft sound of the whirring cicadas take me into the presence of God dropping me off on His porch for awhile. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise and fall.
The Lord is faithful in all his words, and gracious in all his deeds. The Lord upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down. Psalms 145:14
Peace. Love, Linda
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