Oh Shenandoah, I Cry To Hear You

After three days of wind and rain, the sun nudged through the clouds this morning, prompting my first walk since Sunday. It was 46 degrees when I left at 9:15 a.m., my hair in a ponytail and my hands in gloves, my iPod playing White Christmas – something new to listen to! Earlier in the week, I’d added a holiday playlist, incorporating a few of my favorites: White Christmas by Bing Crosby; What Child Is This and O Holy Night by the Judds; Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas by Tony Bennett, and three tunes by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I’d thrown in Oh Shenandoah for good measure, and today, as I walked a creek bank swollen with rain, that song came on.

That quick, my eyes welled and my throat grew thick, and I had to stop at the footbridge to collect myself.

Maybe it was the lyrics. Or maybe it was the swell of the choir, the men’s voices mingling with the women’s, the notion there was a time and place when someone could gaze across a river, knowing all their lives they’d love it like a friend.

Likely it’s the season. The time of year when we all go a little sentimental; when we tell those close to us how much they mean to us, and how grateful we are they don’t laugh out loud when they find us crying in a creek bed.