Sunlight dappled on knotted gray bark. Tiny berries, bright red against the chocolate ground. June-blue sky with clouds that are no more than a breath of air. Gossipping birds, twittering with joy as the sun grazes their wings. Fresh, cool, earth-damp, right-after-rain-air that would smell like spring if you didn't know any better. A far-off, placid blue lake, nestled between low hills, mid-century farmhouses, and rusting cattle fences. Fragmented snatches of happiness, scattered throughout my grandparents' yard on a heavenly November day. Sunshine warms my sitting form, already on its downward slope to the horizon. My hands are chilled, but my heart is happy, soaking up the basic shapes of beautiful. Even the hum of the tractor next door sounds like a cheerful tune. Days like these remind me there is a God.
"When I look at your heavens, the work
of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you
have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of
him,
and the son of man that you care for
him?"
Psalm 8:3-4
