Saturday Slight

We have triumphed. We have not packed our bags and left town.  We have not murdered anyone.  We have stayed here and weathered the storms and storms and storms and more storms

And, this morning we see the light.  Oh, it is so bright.  And, it feels so right.  

See, even poetry is flowing  as I revel in this long awaited day of sunshine and blue skies.

But wait.  I should not revel too publicly.   

I thought of a prayer this morning while walking down South Center Valley Road, focusing in on sights and sounds of this welcome weather change---smoke billowing from Meserve's chimney to break the chill in the air after a night of clear skies, a train whistle off to the east as a freight rolled through Selle, a crow squawking its mind from a tree limb in Gary Finney's woods.

While taking in those sights and sounds, I also listened to the silent words of a grateful but repentful prayer swirling within my mind.

Oh, Lord, I promise never to brag about a nice winter ever ever again.  I know my overzealous, repetitive revelry toward those pleasant days of January, February and part of March must have sounded just as screechy to your ears as that crow in the woods.

I'm sure, Lord, that you felt I had over-imbibed in the joy of little snow and a minimum of gray, gloomy days.  After hearing my bragging much too often, you knew that it was past time for me  fall upon my knees and repent my gluttonous glee that for once winter was not bad.

So, Lord, you brought the rain and the rain and the rain and the rain---to teach me a lesson.  

I have learned, Lord, and in the future I shall keep my emotions in tow during all future weather patterns that lead me to believe that life can be better than damn frustrating here in North Idaho.

As I look at those two marigolds and that lone cabbage out behind the barn still stretching their necks to keep their heads above water, I know that I have erred.

When I see my rototiller almost floating around my north garden and when I know that it will be at least seven days and seven nights before I can ford the lake around the entrance to the garden, I feel deep remorse---as deep as the garden water covering all those rows of corn and potatoes I so foolishly planted over the past few weeks.

Yes, Lord, I am happy this morning to see the sun, but not overjoyed.  I appreciate the sun, but I shall not ever brag to anyone, especially on Facebook,  that "Ha Ha, our place is sunnier than yours."

Just like it's not nice to fool Mother Nature, it's not nice to make statements about how the ol' girl changed her ways and gave us a break for once.

Yes, Lord, I have done and spoken wrong.  Now that you have finally given us a sunny Saturday and apparently might even extend to us  a few more fair weather days, I humbly and prayerfully promise to appreciate every moment and never utter anything that in any way suggests we got a really good deal.  

Amen

And, thank you from a truly humbled servant.