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Father Time has Silver Hair

Old Father Time roared with laughter. Why, the audacity of it all! Calling the celestial lights grey! Of all the nonsense.

He couldn’t figure what had gotten into the woodfolk that midsummer eve. Star nymphs were arguing with flower fairies, who gesticulated wildly at reckless dragonriders astride iridescent damselflies. Beech trees flung golden leaves into winds whistling warning of a brewing storm while silverbells chimed against each other in their eagerness to be heard. Babydoll sheep bleated plaintively as bottleflies swarmed in the chaos, dandelions snapped shut and there wasn’t a chittering squirrel to be seen – though acorns were mysteriously knocking about everyone’s heads. The pandemonium was outstanding! Humming lightly, Father stood and twilight descended. The earth sighed and cool rose from below mossy embankments as creation awaited the glitter of eventide’s starlit blessing.

Then the chorus began – rustles, whistles, sighs, whooting, chirping, warbling – a choir of life rising in crescendo as the sun set it’s glowing wake beyond the horizon.  

Did you hear that the celestial lights are being defined as grey? Grey!

Are you taking this personally, Time?

Father Time blustered. Why, why… just look at it! Starlight is clear and sparkles with the clarity of a diamond! Light refraction! Pure! Not cloudy like grey!  Pshaw. 

Grey is an in-between thing.

Time nodded. Yes, Almighty. I don’t care for in-betweens.

You like twilight. This is an in-between. 

Well, yes, to be sure, however the gloaming is a reality of creation, not a description of a reality!

The Creator paused to stroke an adoring squirrel. He smiled as the tail twitched in perfect time to whiskers now bathed in the silvery streaks of starlight.

Creator turned and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Are you tired? 

I am weary. And I find myself silvering more and more these days because of it.

I understand.

And the stress of the world is really quite disconcerting.

I feel it too.

And the vibrations of bad sound outside of these secret woods are affecting us all now.

Yes, I hear it as well.

Worst yet? No one SAYS THE WORDS. They just don’t say them anymore. They clatter their fingers over plastic keypads. They mutter into boxes. And their avoidance to just SAY the words is wreaking havoc over the rest of Creation! Everyone is all in a snit over the most ridiculous things. Time gestured into the now-quiet woods softly sinking into slumber.

Great Creator grinned over at his companion. We both know that what most call ‘grey’ is really silver. Silver is precious. Like the silver of your head and beard, Old Friend.

Time pointed. Look! There! Apples of gold. They seem to be set in silver.

Both turned to gaze at the orchard settled at the westerly perimeter of the forest garden. The skin of each fruit was naturally glazed in golden hues, and now, with the silvery light of the heavens cast around, they looked magnificent. 

Apples of gold in settings of silver. I like it. They are like words fitly spoken.

Oh yes, oh yes! You know, the flying squirrels are using just that very thing on Fox, words spoken well! I heard it all myself just yesterday. Squirrel has been offering – with surprisingly tactful words – how to manage foxtails because they get them all tangled with briars, you understand. So I heard the foxes saying,  ‘oh good to know’ or ‘is that so? I’ll give it a go’, instead of the regular way of foxspeech, quick to take offence – if you know what I mean.

Both watched the twinkle of stars in the night sky, and heard the ring of silversong as each frequency made its way through the skies down to the forest.

Your hair is silver. Not grey. Silver as the starlight.

Ah! Time stood and stretched. I like that. A silver head. To surround words well spoken. I believe I will find way to bring silver back to where greyness is taking over. 

Beautiful glimmers.

With a nod to Creator, Time tossed his great, silver beard over his great, broad shoulder, took up his great, heavy staff and turned to watch the glowing east as the sun rose once again. And as he did, the Great I Am whispered words fitly spoken to the winds so that they might drift with the breeze over the whole, wide world. Then, as they both waited for good things to begin to happen, a wee boy far in the east said ‘I love you’. And a woman walking on Market street gave a stranger hope just as another person clear across the world spoke kindly in the face of anger and a man complimented his son’s work instead of simply nodding, and an orphanage far in the west received fresh bread, cheese and veggies by the bucketloads. A baby is born and a family turned their grieving hearts to the Maker of starlight and another day dawns with hope and promise…  

“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.” (KJV Prov. 25:11)

“Say the words… say I love you.” (“Say the Words” by DC TALK)