I remember the Paul Simon song that tells the darkness “hello” as he comes to talk to his old friend.
Unintentionally maybe, it sure sounds like prayer. Prayer, in the way the morning sounds soothe me, similar to nighttime solitude.
The Labrador is sprawled out in front of me, his legs lifted up in the air. I don’t disturb him. He’s circled the back yard and been fed and now reclining, a routine.
The ceiling fan whirs above me, the motor, the rhythm of the blades like a chorus of humming.
The birds are harmonious today, not just one or two near the window but gathered someplace in the periphery.
Their song is subtle.
It compels quiet pause.
Later, I’ll lunch with a new friend and attend a funeral.
I’ll listen. I’ll savor the words someone who reads my words without knowing me has to offer.
I’ll be teachable. I won’t see another’s wisdom as criticism.
I will listen to the words that will honor my friend. He was wise. He was kind. Words shared of him will be worth remembering.
I’ll sit a little longer here with plans to read John’s accounts of Jesus healing unlikely people.
I’ll savor the silence that’s not really silence, just a time of gratitude for mercy again this morning.
Mercy that keeps me teachable, makes me open to others and keeps my heart open to good change.
The sound of silence, my old friend.
The atmosphere that conjured morning prayer.
Lord, help me to listen.
I’m linking up with others prompted by the word “savor”