thought into the particular sobriety of words, that love always meant sacrificing one desired thing for another.
He inhaled deeply, remembering the first breath, feeling the bitter chill enter his lungs, and paused, holding the cold in, enjoying the oxygenated rush of vertigo he experienced at the deliberate cessation of breathing. As he released his breath and let it go, he also enjoyed watching the exhaled cloud of mist wafting, dissolving, towards the lower woods; thinning finally into nothing, it continued invisibly descending, dispersing silent blessing upon the house and fields and barn below that stood as material testament to his worldly endeavors, work he hoped in the final Judgment would be found adequate and good.
When he moved again for the higher woods, a shadow flew across the moon through the stillness. He recognized the owl’s silent flight even as, responding with primeval instinct, he reflexively threw an arm up towards the sky for protection. His heart resettling, he told himself: Thou knowest neither the day nor the hour.
A few steps farther on, his mind began entertaining the implied corollary: Despite however many years remained, there would never be enough time to do all.
The stark looming fact of life’s transience caused him to take a quick breath. He stood quiet, realizing death bothered him not half so much as the night’s emerging epiphany, confirming what he’d always suspected: The Man in Black would follow him to the end of his days.
Yet still, even still… perhaps salvation remained real?
He was sure of it. And so, he would live by the Book, take no heed for his own dying, but seek—and desire to the depths of his soul—the Kingdom of Heaven.
No sooner did his thoughts guide him to this comforting conclusion than the great horned owl hooted once more, from a new perch farther down in the woods. Jacob held his breath and closed his eyes, waiting, feeling the chill air penetrating the fabric of his clothes. But the owl remained afterwards silent, its call—like the quelled chorus of bridges—absorbed by the valley.
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Amish Country is one of sixteen selections in: The Empty House, assorted stories.
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