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Glory in the quiet …

These were my first pre-dawn Saturday/Sunday strolls in a few weeks; the flu and a nagging cold kicked my butt good.

The walks have resumed just in time; daytime temps are finally civil. I’m both a participant and willing observer. The resident birds are up & at ’em early. In the absence of 6 a.m. traffic noise, their sweet tunes are divine. Owls are at it too, but their hoot-hoot-hoots are some distance away. When the chirping/hooting dies away for a even a few moments, there is a wonderful silence to the morning darkness. There is glory in such quiet. The sound of silence won’t last much longer once my busy neighborhood awakens. No deer are seen criss crossing Sharon View or Colony roads.

My Friday walk produced yet another disheartening haul of junk. But I'm glad to be able to get out again in the effort to bring litter under control.

My Friday walk produced yet another disheartening haul of junk. But I’m glad to be able to get out again in the effort to bring litter under control.

After many days of missed walks, more litter than usual is expected. That’s how it turns out. But in some ways it makes me glad to be back in a quirky sort of way. At least some stuff will be bagged and recycled.

While I was out the environment suffered more wounds; Florida’s governor elevated climate change denial to a whole new level with what amounts to a state-sponsored gag order. Close to home in the Carolinas, ocean acidity levels are higher than elsewhere. More oil has spilled into rivers as tank cars derail adjacent to waterways.

But more on those sorrowful developments later. As of this morning I’m just glad to be back patrolling my path.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

1 Comment on Glory in the quiet …

  1. John Cleghorn // March 15, 2015 at 2:05 pm // Reply


    Rev. John M. Cleghorn

    Caldwell Presbyterian Church

    logo for email sig

    704.334.0825 ext 2# o

    704.957.4511 c

    God Invites. We Welcome. All.

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