The Ground was Silver-White: A Short Story

The ground was silver-white with frost and the grass felt like crumpling steal wool under his feet. The only sound was his footsteps and the trickle of the creek that ran through the meadow, but it was still too dark to see. A golden glow had begun to illuminate the eastern horizon but the sky was still dark blue and painted with the Milky Way. The yelp of a coyote startled the boy and he pulled a Swiss army knife out of his thick canvas coat. The creek bubbled on, winding and curving its way through the clumps of rush and sedge until a large oak interrupted its flow and sent it on a more sporadic path through the woodland. The woodland still looked dark to the boy, who had found a place to sit in the damp grass by the creek edge. He sat silently chewing on a grass stem as a western meadowlark lighted on the nearby oak. A puff of warm breath escaped the meadowlark’s bill and the boy looked up as it began to sing. The bird’s breath was yellow and shining and its plumage stood out against the brightening sky. The boy considered climbing a tree to see the sun sooner but he decided against it, and resumed chewing grass. The sun would have to come to him. He contemplated why the lark should find it so easy to fly high and sit in the light of the sun. Was nature so privileged to find peace whenever it so desired? A snuffling sound interrupted his thoughts and a doe, its dark silhouette highlighted against the glowing horizon, stared nervously in his direction before returning to the grass, which it fastidiously chewed. The boy resumed chewing his grass. He was not so unlike nature after all.

As the stars faded into the growing blue sky, a mist rose from the meadow and brought the first beams of the rising sun within arms reach of the boy. The suspended water reflected their golden rays. Now a host of birds were singing. Grasshopper sparrows, horned larks, red-winged blackbirds, and mourning doves joined the chorus. Just a few more minutes and the light would be shining on his face. He stood up and raised his hand. It was golden-pink in the light. The deer, startled by his rising, took a few bounds toward the forest edge and stopped to stare. A leopard frog jumped into the stream from the opposite bank and surfaced near his feet, holding to a clump of sedge growing from the water. The boy wondered how the frog could be so sprightly after singing so much that night. He hadn’t gotten any sleep at all and it was just the anticipation of the morning that kept him awake. He pondered if animals ever got tired.

The sun was now shining on the rim of his wide-brimmed hat and he pulled it off and let the golden light play in the falling curls of his blonde hair. He wandered to a rock and planted his back against it, looking into the dark shadows of the forest. It made him uneasy and his eyes, searching the darkness for movement, caught sight of a furry tail moving in the hollow of a woodpecker’s hole. A squirrel pushed its ears out of its home and lighted sluggishly on a branch outside the den. It yawned widely, stretching its limbs across the branch and flexing the tips of its paws. For a moment, it stared at the dawn through squinting eyes and then returned to its bed. The boy figured the squirrel hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night either. It must be tired too.

The light was now touching the tops of the grass and baby birds could be heard stirring, hungry after a good nights rest. As the mist cleared, and the rock warmed, the boy’s eyes started to close. For the first time in a long time he thought of God, and imagined the Father’s arms were wrapped around him, warming him up.

Suddenly, he heard a noise. He had heard it many times before but it seemed to run against the grain of everything he’d thought and heard that morning. It seemed loud, though it was barely audible. The deer sprinted for the forest and the frog tucked its webbed feet under its bulging belly. The squirrel shoved its head back out its hole and chattered angrily. It was much closer now and the beat unmistakable. It was rock music.

“There you are!” The voice of a teen-aged girl broke the mood of the meadow so abruptly that the boy nearly flew into the creek. He stood up quickly and turned around. The teen pushed her headphones off and curled her lip. “What are you doing? Don’t you care what’s happening? Dad left Mom after last night to go and live with Dianne! He says he’s never coming back!”

“I heard.” The boy mumbled, his mood transferring back to the norm of his society.

“Well! Don’t you care?”

“Ya.”

“C’mon then!” She turned and trotted back the way she came, flipping her cranked music back onto her ears. “You should eat some breakfast before the drive.”

“To where?” he asked, shuffling along behind her.

“There’s a Grateful Dead concert going down in St. Louis tonight and Mom wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Do I have to go?”

“I’m not staying behind to sit you, if that’s what you want!”

The boy stopped and looked over his shoulder. He was envious of nature. He wanted to help himself, but he knew he couldn’t. Jesus crossed his mind for only a second, but the thought passed by and never returned. He snatched his sister’s headphones and iPod and ran to the house as she screamed after him.

Two Christians across the street, almost inside the doors of the building they call church, saw the boy twerking to the music as the teen girl tried to snatch the headphones back.

“Some people are such idiots,” one of them said. “But it reminds me. Any of y’all going to the Grateful Dead concert tonight? I’m leaving church early if you want to join.” The worship began inside and the party moved inside the doors. The song playing was same one the teen girl had been listening to.

The door of the church was closed.