In a normal year, I would not have mowed my yard in two weeks and no one would notice. In a normal year, the road banks would be tan and turning brown. In a normal year, corn leaves would twist in early afternoon and wait for the cool shade of night. In a normal year, cows would search for green patches in fields of thatch as “pasture” turned into dubious description. In a normal year, this would feel like August, look like August. The air would smell of dryness, the slight parch hit the back of the throat when you step outside and take in that first deep draw of air, burning and heavy. But this is not a normal year.

The yard needs mowing every four or five days, even though I hold out for seven or eight. The road banks are dense green and growing. The corn stalks are still dark and vibrant even though the silks are turning black and ears are filled. Cattle graze in fields thick with new growth. In this year, August feels more like May with frequent storms and heavy showers. It’s been hard this past week or two to find the hours of drying time needed for a heavy layer of oil enamel to dry on the porch boards.

We’re hoping that the ten hours we’ve had since finishing in the dark last night will be enough. Sometimes the need is so great and urgent that we can no longer wait until the perfect time. We replaced the broken and rotting, put in new boards, primed and painted. Even yet, the porch will not be perfect. But it has been improved dramatically. Sometimes, that is enough.

Sometimes, it is just a stage between no longer being unsafe and being truly finished. Kind of like a life no longer lived in the darkness but not yet fully reflecting the Light.

H. Arnett
8/19/09