There’s a field behind our neighborhood. Carpeted with brome in the summer, scruff in the winter. It’s a magical place where my son, the dog and I walk.
We saw a deer run across the north end the first time we explored the field. We were a few acres south, but we spotted him clear as day. Our eyes followed his white tail and long, bounding strides.
Our part of Kansas is flat. Flatter than Illinois. If there weren’t lines of trees and houses blocking the view, no telling how far you could see.
The field is covered with short, dry grass now. Besides the ground and the wind, there’s nothing but sky. Wide, blue, voluminous sky.
The moon often watches us when we walk the field. Even in sunlight, its bald head nods as we plod along the soft ground.
My son would play there forever if I let him.
In freedom he scampers ahead of me. Kneels. Lifts his arms. Stares down the barrel and through the cross hairs. Imagines sniping enemy troops.
The dog is also at home there. She parts the grass like water and swims. Without warning, she pops straight up and over, jumping like a rabbit. Ears pricked. Her body alert to the possibility of field mice beneath these waves.
Except for the one deer, the only wildlife we’ve seen are small birds. They congregate, hidden in the grass, then spring into flight as we approach. Dozens of tiny, floating kites, cut loose to lift and sail away.
One day, my son called to me from where he crouched. The inflection in his voice danced over the field.
“Mom,” he said. “I found a deer track!”
Sure enough, he’d found one perfect, heart-shaped deer track imprinted in the dried dirt.
We could tell—from the shape of the print, the deer that left it there had been walking. Just like us.
These are the moments I wish I could capture. They bound away, impossible to hold. Photographs don’t do them justice.
Must be what it’s like to walk on the moon.
An ordinary action, walking. Elevated here. Beyond measure in its fullness. Silent. Solitary. Surrounded by nothing but God and ground and sky.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21 NIV
When I was pregnant with my son, I listened to Beethoven. Relax and savor the tender, magical, masterful strains of Moonlight Sonata.
The La Lune print featured in today’s post is the work of English designer/illustrator Merrick Angle.
Merrick presently works out of a studio near Limoges in rural France. His online shop, Double Merrick, continues to wow.
Visit his shop to see for yourself and read more of his story. Warning: you may fall in love with what you see.