The rain falls like shining beads; glistening drops cling to naked branches and capture light that gleams against the white sky. The jays are fighting over my feeder, chasing away the smaller sparrows with their mean cries. When they land in the plumb tree I watch the branches let go of each tiny drop—dew cascade.
The sky is falling.
She tells the story of the child Salvador Dali—how he painted with stones…intricately gluing a tiny rock-sky to his canvas and creating a still life below with cherry stems.
…His parents supported his creative efforts and hung his stone sky painting in the dining room. Every once in a while a pebble would dive to the floor with a tap. Salvador’s father assured people, “It’s nothing; it’s just another stone that has dropped from our child’s sky.” (L.L. Barkat in Stone Crossings, page 33)
We work with what we have.
All my life I have picked up stones. Tiny bits of round pebble, sharp-edged slate. I paste these jagged, broken bits together, finger paint around it, and call this art.
This is life. This is my life.
I never thought I had a choice. I’ve worked with what I’ve been given. When the stones fall from the sky, sometimes I rearrange them.
Does this look better over here? Shall I try it over here? Let’s do it this way for a time, shall we?
Greedily, I pick my stones up off the floor—hunt them down under the cupboard where they have rolled in haste, gather them from where they have scattered—and put them back together.
Isn’t this pretty?
But what would happen if…
If I opened up the fingers that wrap so tightly around the coolness of these stones? What if I let go—trusted?
Would God take these precious stones—the ones that glitter in the sun and invite my thumb to rub across their flat—would he take these and put them in his bowl? Would he grind them down with his pestle until all that is left is fine sand? Would he then moisten it with his breath, turn my stones to clay?
What if he rolled that clay between his fingers–smoothed it with gentle hand?
What if, instead of rearranging, I allowed these things to be…transformed?
My sky is falling.
And I think I like it.