My hand grasps the door handle as wind catches it pulling me quickly to the street, greeted by passing cars and northwest winds. Fifty-five degrees, sunny, warm, and it’s February in Michigan. How can this be? Armed with book and phone in hand, I begin my descent toward the boardwalk parallel to the St. Clair River.
With slight hesitation, I step from sidewalk to grass. Any reminisce from last nights rainstorm has dissipated deep below the dirt. I lean into the wind to keep me from running down the knoll. The weathered boardwalk greets me with a thud as I step upon it, changing its tune the closer I get to the edge of the turquoise water. Above me clouds shift and form into shapes of animals and objects, colliding into one another. I stand firm against the wind while my black vest retains the heat from the sun.
Eager to read my book, I step toward the wood bench, sit, and open it. Left to right the words come and go, but I cannot retain them; day two of distraction plagues me. The wind continues to beat me, freeing my ponytail to dance as though it’s a flame moving to music. I am restless sitting here, wishing to do so much in so little time.
Closing the book, I stand and walk down the river against the wind greeting people along the way, turning back as wood turned to cement. Readjusting the book tucked under my arm, I skeptically seek out art for my lens. Flaking rust captures my eye, I squat to focus on the sun hitting it just right. I want to review the pic after I take it, but keep my focus on the journey ahead. Up ahead, I spot an open dock jetted out beyond the metal railing the closer I get to it, I know it’s the perfect spot to sit and read. But, when I open the book, I am immediately distracted. Refocusing my attention, I eventually engage in my reading at the edge of rust, wood, and water, pausing often to reflect on where God has me; sitting in His presence, where I’ve longed to be.
“As the deer pants for the streams of water, so my soul pants for You, my God.” Psalm 42:1