(This scene has been replaying…thus, the reposting from the archives)
Yesterday was a day of flight, one of those days where your spirit lifts…and then soars. Up and into the golden.
Shalom and I sat by the fence line yesterday afternoon, waiting, the combines humming their harvest song in the distance. We had come to bring meals to the men in the fields…but we were the ones who were fed.
Fed light and color and warmth—He fed us Autumn’s glory and we savored every morsel.
A moth hovered, whirling wings blurring, droning. Up the straight-as-an-arrow gravel laneway to the farmhouse, stand a dozen or more telephone poles. Sitting on field’s edge, it seemed as if the telephone poles were merely propping up strings of seeming millions of barn swallows, suspended in mid-air. The swoop of swallows out over the fields and then the effortless glide back into rest on the lines with innumerable other flyers mesmerized us in the afternoon sun.
I wondered what it was like to swoop, wheel and mount the autumn skies with such pagentry.
Our meals delivered to thankful, dusty men, Shalom and I made our way back to the house. Monarch butterflies lilted and flitted up the laneway, wings brushed with sunlight’s amber glow. All around us flight.
Summer was flying away. Her farewell was a parade of glorious brilliance.
Made me yearn for my own soaring:
Some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away.
To home on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away.
I’ll fly away, O Glory, I’ll fly away.
Lord, the gold of Autumn leaves me homesick for Your streets of gold. Until that final flight, I spend my days flying high, my spirit soaring up with You. Oh, isn’t it grand?
