Living Seasonally
Summer seems like it would the season to kick back and relax a little. It’s not. The schedule fills up, Phil is still busy as ever and the days fly by. But at least there’s ice cream and watermelon and iced tea on the porch.
"My beloved is unto me as a bundle of myrrh." Song of Solomon 1:13
Saturday, July 7th, 2018
Living Seasonally
Summer seems like it would the season to kick back and relax a little. It’s not. The schedule fills up, Phil is still busy as ever and the days fly by. But at least there’s ice cream and watermelon and iced tea on the porch.
Wednesday, February 14th, 2018
Living Seasonally
You can ask my Mama if you don’t believe me, but for years I did not very much care for seasons like Spring or Easter. I’m not really sure why, they just weren’t the ones I looked forward to. But I can say now having lived where there is a true season of Winter, the coming of Spring is a welcomed gift. I’m always ready for Spring once it arrives and I have Winter to thank for that.
I do enjoy the Winter while it’s here. Well, some of it not the dangerous horrible parts of it, like driving on ice or getting a chill down to your bones.
Sunday, February 11th, 2018
It’s a particular delight of mine, seeing my babies reading. And when I see one baby reading to another baby my heart is fit to burst. I don’t know if there’s really a way to “make kids readers” and I don’t know if they will always like reading but I’m so thankful that for now this is one way they all enjoy spending their time alone, with one another and with Mama.
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Wednesday, October 4th, 2017
Living Seasonally
Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o’er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain!
Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended
So long beneath the heaven’s o’er-hanging eaves;
Thy steps are by the farmer’s prayers attended;
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!