Saving the Day

This morning the world seemed all gray and saffron as I drove along gray pavement, with a tongue of yellow, guiding the way.

A school bus, as yellow as goldenrod, passed me by and ripe corn stood, richly golden--traces of green almost completely gone.

Even the sun hung gloriously in a sky full of clouds that rolled restlessly and fretfully--angry dark gray over white-gray.

The world looked like a black and white photo in which only yellow had been highlighted.

I thought of the days that I've described. Each one seems engraved somehow in my memory.

There was an autumn day when the world looked like a glamourous woman, aware of her beauty, bold and confident, not coy or self conscious.

I remember the day last winter when a veil of snow drifted across the fields as if held by some invisible hand.

And this spring when a rich brown field was to my eye, a nut brown shoulder, over which was flung a mantle of rich mossy green.

A sudden variation on the golden theme took me by surprise. From above a group of quietly coloured trees arose a shock of orange leaves, vivid and glorious, looking like a tall red headed boy in a crowd of brown haired boys.

I have tried to "save the day."

Psalm 19:2-3 (The Message)
A David Psalm
1-2 God's glory is on tour in the skies, God-craft on exhibit across the horizon.
Madame Day holds classes every morning,
Professor Night lectures each evening.
3-4 Their words aren't heard,
their voices aren't recorded,
But their silence fills the earth:
unspoken truth is spoken everywhere.