Grace for the journey…

All packed up and on her way—our sunbeam, fourth of five children to fly the nest…

And within hours we are more lightly packed and heading in the opposite direction…

Accompanied by two daughters, torrential rain, a rainbow spanning the horizon, dense fog and much beauty…we journeyed the 700 miles to memorialize a Mom who has forever changed our worlds…

…and to catch up with eight  weeks of growth that has taken place without us…

The memorial service was precious, and memorable.  The much family gathered—all five children, four spouses, 12 of the nineteen grandchildren and 10 of the fourteen great grandchildren--a tribute to God’s incredible and continuing faithfulness …

 

Even in the stark chill of winter there is beauty, because of grace.

 

Thank God for the love of mothers, so like His own. 

--LS

Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Prov.31:28

The Sound of Fall

Fingers stiff with the damp cold of morning, I’ve just returned from roving about gumbooted in the yard taking pictures of morning…

…the sun lazily rising through cloud making all the cool wetness shimmer…

There seems not much to be seen this morning, not much worth leaving my hot cup of tea for and wandering about in this damp coldness…

The early risers among the crows are back to their nut fest. All day long while the walnuts last they will be about their aerial stunts, flying high, nut in beak, only to drop it and spiral down in swift pursuit to snatch it as it hits the pavement and extract the nut meats. These early birds are lucky, very little competition.  But they decline having their stunts photographed…They work for live only audiences.  And such was I one lazy afternoon this week.

Meanwhile the last crab apples hang onto their cheery hue…

Out back, the willow tree is busy laying down leaves to ensure we stay active as fall settles in…

The lilac lingers golden…ho, hum.

But the clothespins are transfixed with morning dew, every drop a lens!

These last hardy blooms bedecked with dew brighten a forgotten corner of the garden, but is there nothing else of note?

Then I hear it overhead, the migrating squadron of what I at first take to be geese… But listen:

Trumpet call overhead…

Now that was worth braving the morning chill for ( ;

And as I type I hear the real mcCoy—passing geese, making a ruckus as they get into formation for the day’s flight…This, and the croak of crows, is the sound of Fall…

The sound of Fall

Praise ye the LORD. Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power….
Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.

--LS