through bone and rain and everything

hold,black and white

On a spring day in 1950, when I was big enough to run about on my own two legs yet still small enough to ride in my father’s arms, he carried me onto the porch of a farmhouse in Tennessee and held me against his chest, humming, while thunder roared and lightning flared and rain sizzled around us. On a spring day just over twenty years later, I carried my own child onto the porch of a house in Indiana to meet a thunderstorm, and then, after thirty more years, I did the same with my first grandchild. Murmuring tunes my father had sung to me, I held each baby close, my daughter, Eva, and then, a generation later, her daughter, Elizabeth, and while I studied the baby’s newly opened eyes I wondered if she felt what I had felt as a child cradled on the edge of a storm— the tingle of a power that surges through bone and rain and everything.

~ Scott Russell Sanders, A Private History of Awe


Image: Suzanne with a Little Part of You

 

Comments

  1. Thanks David.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. i felt a bit of it just reading this. wonderful. blood is indeed thicker than water from the skies.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. A precious memory to pass on.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. It’s moments like these we want to remember and share.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. My mother did the same thing to us and I passed it on to my children.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. So touching. Thank you for this moment.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Thank you for reminding me of what is important.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Could smell the ozone in the air and feel the fierce love coursing between generations….

    Liked by 1 person

  9. The photo…
    The whole universe does fit in our hands.
    Beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Loving connection and touch sparked by nature’s powerful energy…. and I thought sitting under the veranda holding hands in a thunder storm was pretty special. This is a wonder-filled moment to cherish forever.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. This makes me think of the day when my daughter and I brought her daughter, her first born, to the ocean on the north shore of Massachusetts. Something holy about these rituals, isn’t there?

    Liked by 1 person

  12. tender sweet.

    Liked by 1 person

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