There is water on the windows.
It happens when warm humidity touches cool glass.
This week might be the last warm week before cold sets in for good.
The windows might be swampy for a few more days.
I long to build a crackling fire.
I want to turn on the heat and smell that first season burn.
“It’s been the same season long enough,” I tell myself.
Read MoreSuffering in this life is like being trapped in a narrow canyon with towering walls that block out the sun and stars. There are treacherous stretches of life that appear to have no end and necessitate only one labored step at a time.
Read MoreI haven’t done a lot of writing lately, not because I don’t have anything to say or because I’m not thinking deeply about what this unprecedented Pandemic is bringing to the surface in my life.
It’s just that every time I sit down to pen some thoughts, I sense that there is so much that has already been stated and so I don’t want to repeat what many others are already realizing.
Read MoreI fell asleep at 7:30 p.m. on a Saturday night. My husband and two boys were away on a weekend hunting trip and I’m guessing my early retirement was in some way inspired by the cooler temperatures outside, encouraging me to settle in bed under a warm blanket.
Read MoreIt was early in the day and a brisk forty degrees when we began our descent into the Grand Canyon. In preparation for a full morning of hiking on the Bright Angel Trail, the four of us laced up our boots and bundled up.
Read MoreStillness?
Stillness is the quiet expectation of worship, Goodness pouring forth, preparing me for what lies ahead.
Even in the darkness there is anticipation of light. Stillness, waiting for light to peak over the horizon, east.
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