The sky a deep, dark Colorado blue background behind a summer snowfall of ever so delicate white cottony hairs
blowing this way and that, though mostly this way. For the earth is spinning, spinning so very rapidly. It’s amazing...
All of this whilst 15, maybe 20, musicians spin unaware, instruments in hand, upon the simple green carpeted stage.
They’re playing a simple music, a bluegrass gospel music. They’re calling the roll up yonder now, then all flying away.
They’re a passing generation under the weight of an old rugged cross, walking with Him and talking with Him all along the way,
They’re riding life’s railway to heaven, brave engineers carrying the audience to that little white church in the vale.
Shhh! They’re quiet now, hands freed from instruments clasped together, leaning on everlasting arms in a sweet hour of prayer.
They’re covered with the blood, sins washed away, white as the cottonwoods’ snow.
The earth still spins, but the sing-along ends. How can it be? I can’t feel it. I can’t hear it. I can’t see it. It’s amazing...
just a fleeting moment, a happy moment, a briefly remembered moment, in a fast fleeting life. It really is amazing.