Tumbling

Life tumbles by.

Like a stone hurtling down a hill, haphazard, in jerks and bumps, slowing momentarily only to hit a steeper bit and leap with a jolt into the air, catapulting on faster than ever. Like a tumbleweed rolling across the yard, tumbling aimlessly, snagging on a bush and pausing for a time, then catching a breath of wind and scuttling in a trembling scurry over the hill.

There are moments to savor slowly, like this evening on the front porch as I watched orange sherbet clouds streak across a powdery summer sky. But even in those moments of life in slow-motion I felt a breeze against my face and it was not the warm sagey-smelling breeze of mid-summer, but the clear coolness that told me autumn is not far off. And I knew that life is still tumbling on.

I want to stop for a moment, get my bearings, determine just where it is I'm headed, instead of barreling on this disorienting, exhausting, exhilarating way. But life has no breaks, and even if it did, God only grants us light to see one step at a time; the future would remain shrouded in mystery.

So I might as well enjoy the tumble if I can.