For the Beauty

Well, good morning, Lord!

You certainly have outdone Yourself today.

I can't stop staring at all the trees, what with their bid to see who is the most magnificent and all.

It's so grand it boggles the mind. The camera doesn't do it justice. Paintings look artificial. For folks who've never seen this, they probably wouldn't believe a photograph or a painting.

I watched raindrops glisten on a dogwood leaf for ten minutes. That peculiar golden pink color that the leaves turn really offset the bright red berries that sit in clusters on its branches. 

And that orange, red, yellow, cinnamon, gold! Wet it a little, then let the sun come out.







Man, You really know what You're doing. Right now the sky is as blue as an Irish baby's eyes. 

And the air! Oh, the smell that is attached to autumn! Think flannel, wool, fleece, thick cotton, quilts, fireplaces, homemade soup and cornbread. It's beyond description.

The sounds are different, too. Muted. Like the orchestra is winding down and is now playing lullabies to get us ready for the sleep of winter. 

Yes, sir. 

You've really outdone Yourself today.

My hat is off to You, Lord. Your creation, even as badly as we've treated it, is beyond my wildest imagination.

I don't thank You enough.

But I'm thanking You now.

Saturday Slow News Day

Well, I cooked dinner. That's a first in several days, but (thank you, Lord!) my 'extra' back pain has lessened for the past two days, so I figured I'd give it a shot.

I cooked the last of the green beans from the garden. Husband and I picked them last evening. They were a surprise, because we figured we'd already seen the last of them.

One lone tomato and one lone cucumber were left, which we ate, too.

The only reason I feel sad that fall is a'comin', is because I won't have good, fresh tomatoes from the garden. Ain't much better eatin' than that.

Other news: Eli caught a baby blue tail lizard in the sun room. Husband said it looked about done for, but he caught it and took it out to the rose garden. Hope it revives.

Daughter ain't happy. Don't know why, but say a little prayer for her.

Husband did a lot of yard work early this morning. This is BIG news! Ha!

Okay, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel in the news department.

Over and out.

When it is Hard to Let Go

Husband says he thinks I'm from a different planet. Not the  male/female thing, just that I'm, well, weird.

One of the things I am weird about is the dread I feel when I think about seasons changing.

Right now I am overly fond of the well worn quilt that graces my bed. It is dark in its colors, deep ruby and navy. It serves us well all winter, looking warm and cozy and ready to keep you snug throughout the cold night. Oh! And how it feels when I slip beneath it to be wrapped in the flannel sheets underneath the quilt. Between the two is a comforter that my grandmother crocheted out of heavy wool.

I love having a fire in the fireplace, or at least the idea that I can have one anytime I want to.

I love the throws I have throughout the house, ready for use.

I want just one more snow.

Then a day like today comes along. Stepping outside I was overcome with joy. Birds calling to one another, blooms bursting forth as though they couldn't stand it one more minute. I can actually feel the heat of the sun.

And my mind turns to getting out the summer comforter, its pale and flowered presence awaiting. I think of opening windows to let a warm breeze in before it gets too hot. I think of turning on ceiling fans, and visiting greenhouses for plants - flowers and food alike.

I love watching my porches turn from dull and barren to full of color - pots of flowers and plants, cushions in the wicker, and birds nesting behind things on the shelf.

Spring will turn into summer and the windows will close, the air conditioning turned on, and when dog days show up, I ain't so misty about them. I just praise the good Lord for the cool air he allows in my home and cars.

Do I hear an amen?

It's the only time of year I truly dislike the weather in Georgia.

But that's just for a few months. You  open your door one morning to see a sudden pink in the dogwood leaves, that first hint of fall. I feel anticipation returning, anxious for the splendid job God does every autumn.

I may dread the change, but once it occurs I embrace it: whether it's to shed winter, say good-bye to spring, or say hello to fall.

Maybe I'm  not so weird after all.