The Gloaming

The gloaming. It’s so beautiful, and it lasts so long at this time of year in Scotland that they had to invent their own word for it. I stood on the rocks at the entrance to Tarbert Harbour a couple of nights ago, listening to the lullaby of the lapping waves and watching the lightshow over the village. 

The end of the day. Time to stand still and reflect on the day’s activities, the day’s successes or failures, and give the package to God. Somehow things can look clearer from an end-of-the-day perspective. Mistakes may be highlighted and can be apologised for. Jesus moments can be perceived and gratitude can rise, filling the heart with joy and peace. 

The beloved dad of dear friends recently reached the end of his long life. His gloaming probably lasted a bit longer than he might have chosen, but it had a beauty about it, too, as loved ones had time to appreciate him and say their adieus. 

He is now in one big Jesus moment, home at the end of his day, and his loved ones can rest assured that they walked him home safely. There is a quiet beauty at the end of a life well-lived.

Dusk

Gloaming, twilight, whatever you call it there is something special about the time when day gives way to night.

Calm and warm tonight so I headed round the old familiar trail. Powering along, thinking only of the big piece of delicious carrot cake I ate at Liz’s today followed by a sliver of date cake made by Joey for my birthday, I was anxious to walk off all those excess calories. I did pause to admire the pocket of primroses nestled in the scrub, then carried on up the incline. 

Something made me pause. The wind tickled the tree tops of the forest of Endor across the marsh. And rising from the darkening woods was a ‘dusk chorus’. I’m not a bird watcher and struggle to identify calls but I’m sure there were at least 8. I can definitely say there were pigeons cooing behind me, and a harmony of intermittent tunes reached my ears. A woodpecker kept an erratic beat going. A startled pheasant called and cried out as it flew low, skimming the gorse and broom. No cuckoo yet. I love it when the cuckoo comes. 

The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. And what a wonderful earth he has given us to enjoy! 

I carried on, round the corner where bouquets of golden daffodils danced in the breeze. A duck rose from the duck pond. And then back onto the road and headed home but what was that in front? 

A calf. A calf somehow got out of the field and stood nose to nose with other cows, on opposite sides of a gate. He shifted nervously as I cautiously approached. Another walker and his dog came from the other side, trapping the calf in a pincer movement. We both hesitated, shifting carefully forward. I thought I might try to open the gate for him but then he sidled past me and headed down the road. We watched as he re-entered the field further down. 

Chat to the neighbour. Lovely welcome from his wet chocolate lab. Oh, how I miss Dusty ...

The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. Everything.

What a joy to be alive! What a privilege to live in the country. Thank you, Lord.