It's dusk. The mountains are peering through the smog just in time to take a bow for the curtain to close the day. A covey of quail is foraging on the back patio, and their other feathered friends are cavorting around the feeders that Jess and Felicia hung last week outside the picture window in the kitchen. They've refilled the things three times, and I'm almost positive birdseed levels have dropped a quarter since I was home for lunch. Andrea thinks we may have an epidemic of avian obesity on our hands any day. All I know is they've pooped all over my hammock. Good thing they're cute.
I'm catching my breath, letting the events of the day settle while I wait for the dryer to quit tumbling.
I'm remembering days before days and marveling at the sum of them.
A year ago, Renee and I were camped in a pasture falling asleep in the nicest part of the 23rd psalm. The sheep were bleating on the hillside. The ground was soft and dewy beneath my tent. (I can't believe I took a tent to Europe...and brought it back.) Renee pulled out her headlamp and Bible and read a few other psalms we couldn't recite by heart.
Be still my soul...there are miles to go before I sleep, but the frenzy is over until tomorrow.
Not enough time for all the words today has given me.
2 comments:
Pasture camping with you and renee? Sign. me. up. :)
I miss you, dear girl.
Post a Comment