Traveling Without Music

This past week my emotions have run the gamut from grieving over Greg to mad as hell for no reason to being at peace while appreciating God’s handiwork to laughing at something silly a friend said. The overriding emotion is anger; I have no idea why it is here nor what brought it on.

I have thanked God for the beauty He provides daily. I have sat at Greg’s grave and talked to him. I have done yard work and odds and ends of other things. I have done things I normally do.

Except for listening to music while driving. Only one day have I listened to any music while driving and that was on a fast trip to town and back. I was in an angry mood and the music playing on the Explorer’s stereo could be considered rebellious -- you know, aimless wandering, doing things my way, confrontational.

(I did listen to Travis Tritt’s new album -- Set in Stone -- at the house. The acoustical version is good whiskey-sipping music. I also listened to Travis’s music while sitting in Reno’s bar this afternoon.)

Mostly I have listened to the silence of the road. The wind flowing around the cab of the truck. The radio antenna singing. The song of a bird sitting on a fence post.

The sound of rubber meeting the road has brought the anger down to a slow simmer, though I feel it could become a full rolling boil at the slightest provocation. So . . . I am avoiding people and music while driving.

I have no idea why I am avoiding music. Perhaps the memories of Greg it brings and the following tears. Perhaps the sorrow and frustration I feel knowing Greg never accomplished what I know he was capable of doing with his music. Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . I don’t know.

I will return home and absorb the silence echoing there. Songbirds. Tree frogs. Owls. Breezes in the trees.

I will sit at Greg’s grave and watch the sun go down. I will talk to Greg and talk to God. Watch broom sedge sway in a breeze wandering across the hill. Hope another dragonfly blesses me with a visit as one did Tuesday afternoon, brushing its wings against my arm.

Will God’s silence calm my chaotic emotions? I hope so. I need some stable and consistent peace.