Doing the Shuffle

shuffleboard distant

I walked past the shuffleboard courts this morning. Empty, as they have been since I arrived and as I trust they will be when I leave. It’s an old person’s game, I guess. No cue’s or disks around or I might have taken a turn, just to see if I could still gauge the distance and the speed to stop the disc right where I wanted. Whether I still had the touch, the finesse and the feel of the game.

shuffleboard court

Are we even teaching that these days?  The touch and the finesse? The give with the take? The push and the pull?  Where do we develop the moderate hand that senses just how much is needed to nudge the other aside but leave my disk centered in the scoring triangle?

“Stay off the courts” it says. Oh, okay.

I suppose it’s a game for old men, a pastime whose time has passed. Maybe it’s moved indoors where folks don’t have to deal with the sand and the sun and the gawkers passing by.

I’ll come by later and see if I can find a game.

Suddenly Still

Stillness is a shock to the system.

The screeching of tires, the squealing of wheels, the swerving and maneuvering to get out of the way. When the smoke clears and the dust settles, it takes a bit of righting to find balance. Turns out, forward momentum can keep you upright through pretty much any squall, but stillness…now THAT requires full attention.

Nothing propels you forward but your determination.

Nothing holds you back but your inertia.

Nothing prevents you falling, but your course corrections. Be aware of your surroundings. Be sure of your footing. Have your compass handy.

Nothing moves you forward but your own efforts.

Stillness is a sock in the gut and a kick in the pants. It’s not the friendly place you once knew, it’s the firm place you now need.

It’s amazing what stillness brings into focus.

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Hands Free Viewing for a One Time Show

Trust me?

Leave your phone, your notebook, and your water bottle behind.
Just you and me around the lake this morning.
Can you do this?

But what if the sunrise is spectacular?
My sunrise is not meant for you to preserve,
distribute or reproduce.

But what if there are words to record?
My words will be there,
when you return.

But what if I’m thirsty?
There’s a fountain part way around,
but you won’t need it.

So, out the door,
down the steps,
along the ramp
and through the archway I go.
Onto the path that encircles the lake.

There, there in the East is the glow.
The shadows deep, growing pink on the waters,
the geese and the swans, silhouetted against it all,
going about their morning as if this happens every day.

But I, I the intruder,
the visitor from out of town,
pause at the spectacle and smile at the cast.
Behold, the Premier! the one and only showing of
Sunrise. Today. For me.

Tears. Tears of joy.
This is a mere yawn
for the Creator of the Dawn.

Rounding the bend,
the action in the eastern sky is obscured by trees, hills and shoreline.
Wait! Don’t go!
I race around the bend but, alas,
I’m too small to see it.
Too near to perceive it.

Look away, my child.

There, in the away,
by the light of the sun just risen,
I see the day.

Take nothing with you, said He.
Nothing to encumber. Hands free.
Let me show you the Glory meant for you.
Just the two of us, here in the morning, on the mountain, around the lake.

What can I do in the face of a God who loves me like that?
but trust?

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another morning

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