Meet Brother Cecil

All during the month of December, as I was researching and writing about all the things we see which remind us of Christmas, from bells to angels to Christmas trees, I was also thinking of all the things I could write about once January came and I could blog about whatever I wanted. Yet here I am, today, trying to think of something.

Oh, a few of those ideas are still bouncing around in my head, but they also are going to take too long to write about. I always write my articles or stories the night before and then post them first thing in the morning. I’m tired tonight, it’s getting late and I want to get to bed.

I decided to share with you an excerpt from my current WIP (“work in progress”). The title is “The Truth Beyond the River” and that’s all I’m going to tell you about it right now. I finished writing it in November and am going to spend the next couple months editing it. Just like with the first novel, “Where the Sky Meets the Sand”, as much as I love the story now, by the time I am done with it, I will be so sick of it. Most writers would probably say the same thing.

Brother Cecil hung the hoe on its hook and turned to leave the empty barn. He slid the door shut behind him and secured the latch. With a sigh, he began the long march back to the Big House, his robes rustling as he walked. In the heat of the early July afternoon, he hardly broke a sweat. Years in the long wool robes had acclimated his body. That, or perhaps the years had thinned his blood. Any amount of heat brought welcome relief from the cold ache in his bones.

Behind the barn, the open field sat vacant. The cattle had all been sold and slaughtered, no doubt already on their way to someone’s kitchen table. Only a few chickens remained in the chicken coop, and he was grateful for the fresh eggs they blessed him with each day.

Brother Cecil stopped beside the three-acre garden plot to inspect his plants. Green beans half the length of his index finger but not much bigger around than a pencil lead clung to the small plants. The corn plants were not a foot-high, a bad sign with the Fourth of July looming. Knowing since early winter that he would be here alone come harvest, he had sparsely planted the garden - a row of beans, a row of corn, a trail of peas along the fence, a hill of squash, a half dozen tomato plants.

In the distance, the picturesque chapel stood as a sentinel over the grounds. Its only stained-glass window, the round one over the front double doors, seemed to glow even though there should be no light inside. Brother Cecil shook his head.

“Surely God is still inside,” he said out loud though no one was within hearing, except the sparrows who had taken up residence in the barn. “Ah, the good Lord is out here though, too. Eh?” He looked up at the blue sky and winked.

 Hope you liked it and want to read more. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait for a bit. In the meantime, however, if you haven’t read “Where the Sky Meets the Sand”, it’s about time you did. And don’t forget to post a review of it on Amazon.com. My goal is to have 40 reviews and I’m only halfway there.

Promise to be more ambitious later in the week. 

Though Brother Cecil didn't see sandhill cranes in his field that day, this is what it may have looked like. This picture was taken this past summer just a few miles from where I imagine Brother Cecil's home to be.