May 20, 2002

• I'm supposed to be at a Church Council meeting tonight.  But, I'm not there.  I'm in fact not much anywhere.  Tim mowed our yard on Saturday.  Usually when any mowing gets done, I at least help.  I like to mow.  I like riding around and around on that dark green craftsman machine tossing bits and pieces of diced vegetation out alongside my path.  It's fun.  There are no kids involved.  There's very little thinking that goes into the process, just ride around and around and don't hit any big rocks. 

  
  

  Since I wasn't doing the mowing on Saturday, I didn't take any [extra] allergy medicine.  Big mistake.  My eyes are swollen, red, and leaking.  My sinuses are congested beyond all reason.  I have a headache.  Today I'm doped up on Benadryl which is serving to make the world pass before my eyes in a bleary fog.  And I'm not much fun.

  
  

  Thank you for the kind comments on the music file that I had on my page for the past 24 hours.  I decided to take it down because I know that it slows the page and many people don't appreciate the assault on their ears.  I know there were some of you who didn't hear it at all.  I'm not sure why that is.  I was using a realaudio plugin and it may be that you need to update your version of realaudio to hear it.

  
  

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  A Rerun for Summer - This was one of the first posts I made on Xange last Summer when I was searching for my "voice."  It was fun for me to look back in the archive and find this one.  I realize reading through this how differently I approach writing here now as opposed to those back-in-the-beginning days.

  
  

  Perfume

  
  

  Breathe.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Do you smell that?   It's the scent of grass.  Does grass have a color in your nose?  Sometimes it provokes me to sneeze.   Sometimes it is a sweet sharp melon scent that sings out "Summer is Here."

  
  

  When I think of perfume, the first scent that rises in my memory is grass.  It isn't exotic or heavy.  No undertone of musk or floral note.  There isn't any chemical enticement manufactured by a cosmetic giant that comes close to the smell of grass for raw sensuality.

  
  

  Grass is clean.  It's earthy and soft, prickly and pliable.  Grass must be cut before the strongest scent escapes into the air.  Broken blades bleed out perfume.

  
  

  "Let our voices rise like incense, let them be as sweet perfume."  When I sing these words in prayer, I think of grass.  I live my life day in and day out, breathing in and breathing out the holy air around me.  How does the air that passes through my body perfume the nostrils of God?

  
  

  Most of the time I breathe without noticing.  Sometimes the words of my mouth are sharp and bitter, complaining and crass.  They flavor the air around me with a stench that magnifies itself with each inhale and exhale.  Other times my words are kind and encouraging, soft and hopeful.  Then they infuse the atmosphere with the smell of life.

  
  

  The most special times are the quiet ones.  When I'm alone in the darkness of the early morning.  I watch Venus blinking and fading in the sunrise and my sleepy eyes drift half shut.   The prayer of my soul breathes out incense before the Almighty.  The air of Heaven smells like grass.
  

  • 7:49 pm
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