| Wednesday, January 12, 2022 | | Joy in the Morning | Decades ago I wrote this lyric:
Oooh, I’ve been a runaway
Stowaway, hideaway…
I remembered that lyric for a reason; it echoes what I feel much of the time lately. Since I last posted, Pete passed from life to Life, two days before Thanksgiving…a beautiful memorial service was held at All Saints Episcopal…many friends and family came and some stayed afterwards…the next days and weeks leading to Christmas passed in a sort of blur. I wound up having stomach issues I have not had for about seven years now, ever since I switched to a gluten free diet. I had a scare with an eye issue which resolved without needing surgery or treatment beyond a lot of rest (and no lifting anything over a sack of flour!) My body, balanced on the same tightrope as my emotions over most of the past year, finally demanded attention. I sat a lot, learned how to sleep without checking Pete’s breathing umpteen times in the dark, and slowly began to navigate this new life. The tension headaches I had most of the last nine months or so vanished overnight. And once I had the okay from my eye doctor to safely tote a long lens, and drive further than the grocery store, “run away” is exactly what I did.
I had planned to visit friends in the NC mountains shortly after the funeral, but my need to stay close to home kept me from traveling until right before New Year’s. So instead of walking the beach, I walked mountain trails, circled mountain lakes, peered through mountain fog, climbed down and back up a more strenuous trail than I knew I could manage to marvel at Linville Falls, and watched as roiling clouds forecast a winter storm to come. On New Year’s Eve, I witnessed the most vibrant sunrise I have seen in many years. As I photographed, words from the old hymn Sweet Hour of Prayer came to mind: “Til from Mount Pisgah’s lofty height, I view my Home and take my flight.” I thought of Pete, not sadly in that moment, but able to rejoice in his own heavenly joy. Little did I know I was literally photographing the Pisgah National Forest! Godwinks are everywhere, all the time, if we can but look and listen. And I am glad, for they have been my best comfort in these days of adjustment. While on the Parkway watching the storm clouds roll in late in the afternoon, I asked—out loud, in the hearing of my friend—if God would part the clouds and make a rift for the sunrays to shine over the peaks. I remembered that verse about Elijah, how God’s Presence came to him not in a violent wind but in the sound of a gentle blowing. So I gently blew up as if puffing out a candle, as I asked. And a few minutes later, here came a beautiful break in the clouds! Did not last long, but I was able to make a few images before the clouds closed in again and the Moment passed.
Shortly before I left, I drove down to Pea Island for a beach walk on one of our spring-like days near year’s end. I always marvel at how empty our winter beaches are. I saw lots of birds but the one that got my attention was a Bald Eagle, just a few months from having its full adult plumage, atop a power pole eating its lunch. It did not seem to mind in the least that I pulled over and photographed it. I am saying this a lot lately, too—It has been a long time since… Fill in the blank. In this case, since I had photographed an eagle at close range with my longest lens. So that was a big treat. Earlier in December, the shrimp trawler Bald Eagle II apparently had engine trouble and ran aground right on shore in Southern Shores. I photographed that “eagle” too, both one afternoon and then at sunrise the day before crews successfully towed her off.
I posted one of the photos below on FB, but I want to share it here too. The morning after Pete passed, I got up in the dark and went to the ocean for sunrise. I needed to share the dawn of his new Beyond Time life. And while there I asked, if possible, for a sign that I am still somehow present to him, to his awareness, though we are absent from one another physically. Sunrise was glorious, with those out-splayed sunrays I love. For a couple clicks of my shutter, just a few seconds, the clouds changed revealing what looked angelic in the clouds. I received the vision as comfort—and that comfort continues every time I see the image. I am grateful, as I seem to have moved into more of a “crying jag” phase since I have returned home.
Music has been mostly silent, these past months. But I have new lyrics born in this new season.
Who can say how comfort comes?
In the kindness of a friend
A note, a smile, a hug,
The sunrise once again…
Right now the Outer Banks is colder than usual in winter (read, low 30s, and quite windy yesterday). I am grateful for my warm house, my warm memories, and the caring of so many people that continue to warm my heart, even as my new thick luxurious socks warm my too-cold feet. I pray that wherever you are, in winter either literal or metaphoric, that you are similarly warmed, and comforted, and led gently toward the joy that comes in the morning.
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click for larger image | For a few seconds, the light of dawn assumed an angelic shape, the morning after Pete passed. |
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click for larger image | The afternoon clouds drew me to the beach, and I shared a few minutes there with a friend who had come for the service. |
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posted by eturek at 1:37 PM |
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