From a Windy Night

Perhaps more things do happen on dark and stormy nights. 

We had let the cat out in the wee hours, after 24 hours of rainy weather had come to a near end, and the wind had begun to blow in a moonless night. Later, we heard a faint wailing, that, for a change, did not seem to come from the little boys room, but from outside.

"Caterwauling," said I, tiptoing from bed to take a peek at the porch, expecting to see Kitty in static mode, facing off against another critter of the night. In the dim porch light, I saw her mounded quietly on the railing, eyes closed. What was making the sound? I grabbed the flashlight and shone it through the window at some unidentified lumps on the top step. There sat Otto and Tom Bombadil, two large toms (suspected) that we had long observed slinking through distant corners of our property at odd times - Otto with his distinguished long mane of black, marked out with white nose and paws, and Tom Bombadil with his lank brown tiger-striped body that seemed to follow his huge head like a battle-wizened rear guard. They were sitting quite still on the top step, looking out on the night, while Kitty dozed on. My flashlight put an end to their music, and after a wary glance, they slunk off into the night. I felt I had spoiled a party. The sense of camaraderie only experienced with others whose company does not require eye contact or words had briefly emanated from their shadows.

The next morning at breakfast, we saw Tom Bombadil making his way up the hill out of our backyard. It is one more reflection on the genius of the Tolkiens who coined the name, that its rhythm is poetic.

Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadil 

Is stalking up the windy hill. 

The trees and grass toss in the blast; 

His crooked stripes march stiffly past.

The fresh creek gurgles after rain,

He prowls, regarding his domain.

The night that heard his eerie song

Has packed its bags of dark and gone,

And light, familiar and fair,

Spreads color on the morning air.

Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadil

Is passing up the windy hill

To places suitable for light

Until returns his friend, the night -

The realm of lurking and of song -

The green woods hide him, and he's gone.

- AFB, 3-10-2024

This morning's sermon on Psalm 19 and God's glory in creation had me thinking, How is God's glory displayed in the existence and behavior of cats? "You make darkness, it becomes night, and the beasts of the forest prowl" (Psalm 104)  comes to mind. They do not reveal His glory like the heavens, and yet each creature taking its place in the order of things bears some witness  to the goodness of the One who orders it all.