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Thursday 15th of December 2011 09:19 AM

By Kim L. Fritzemeier

KFRM Central Kansas Reporter

Farm Wife along the Stafford/Reno County Line


Even saying the word has a certain "weight" to it, doesn't it? It forces us to take a deep breath and try to slow the tick, tick, ticking of an anxious heart. It asks us to still the thoughts that tumble helter-skelter as we skitter along to the next task, the next big thing on the all-important to-do list.

I wait for the right words to come.
I wait for the list to be done. (I'm still waiting!)
I wait for this event.
I wait for that event.

As I was driving home from a doctor's appointment in Hutchinson last evening, I watched the sun's fireball slip underneath the mantle of the earth. My mind immediately kicked into high gear. I kept looking for a good place to pull over so I could take a photo. I kept my eyes open and scanning along the horizon, watching and waiting.

I knew there was a windmill along 4th Street Road, but would I get there before the inky darkness covered all traces of light?

Yes. But while the photo shows a glimpse of the slide show I watched as I raced westward, it doesn't tell the whole story. It doesn't show the incremental changes in the western sky. It doesn't show the pink fingers of light that insistently reached into the eastern sky, the vista that didn't feature the main attraction but was still enriched with its remnants.

This is the season of waiting. It is the season of expectation.

But last night's sunset was a reminder to savor the journey. Would I have truly seen the sun's reflection in the field's shallow puddles if we hadn't experienced a summer of drought? Would it have made the same impression if it didn't come after several cloudy days when day turned into night with little fanfare?

Never lose an opportunity for seeing anything that is beautiful,

for beauty is God's handwriting, a wayside sacrament.

Ralph Waldo Emerson


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