The Evenin' Shadders

If I were a chef, I’d spend early Wednesday mornings at the Farmers Market. I’d get there around 7 a.m., when the produce was wet and fresh and the day was young and the people were still drinking their coffee. If I were a chef, I’d wait patiently while the wrinkled granny lady individually fondled all 631 tomatoes on the table in front of her. I’d quietly tap my foot as she sniffed and touched each of the red, buxom vegetables before she finally selected two, and paid for them. I’d do that, if I were a chef. If I were a chef, I buy peaches — boxes and boxes of peaches. I’d buy them from the old, snaggle-toothed man with the radiant smile whose booth sits to the right of the entrance to the fairgrounds building. I’d buy his peaches because I know the old man understands fruit and earth and trees, better than anyone else there. I’d smile as his wrinkled, gnarly hand gently placed peach after peach in my basket. And I’d give him a sly wink after he handed me a bruised, but succulent pea

Last week I stood on a beach at the Gulf of Mexico and watched the full moon hang round and pregnant in the night sky. In front of me, the waves of the ocean splashed quietly against the sand. All around, me millions of stars twinkled while a few children scampered and played in the dark. I heard my own kids giggle and laugh—but I was somewhere else. As I stood there, I thought about God. I looked skyward and wondered what type of being could spin oceans and stars and moons — even sand — into existence. I wondered how this world, this solid round globe that we call home, can hang in the sky, spin around the sun and serve as a home for billions of souls. I wondered why I’m here. I wondered about my connection to God and about my existence on Earth. I kept asking those questions, but, honestly, I still don’t have the answer, but I kept asking, anyway. As I stood there in awe, my youngest son squirmed in my arms. I’m not sure, but I think the waves and smell of the ocean and the night fr