Morning Ramble

There is a little chill to the air this morning. Its not really cold out, but, still, your hands and your nose soon feel that winter coldness creeping up on you. The sky is full of amazing clouds this morning. I ended up taking about 40 pictures of the sky just on my way out to do chores. The clouds were changing so quickly, stretching and rolling into new and wonderful shapes right before my eyes. They are full of moisture and rain is on the way, you can feel it. The anemometer was spinning like Mei-Lings little pink and gold pinwheel. I thought about rain for a bit while I filled the chickens waterer. The very rain that will fall today or tomorrow, may be the same rain drops that fell on Moses or Jacob. God is the ultimate recycler, and I don't mean that to sound trite or sarcastic, but honest. Rain that falls, goes to our rivers, our lakes, the ocean, where clouds are formed from the moisture of the water. Those same clouds become heavy and raindrops fall. Over and over and over, this happens. Purification systems all part of Gods amazing creation. Nothing random about it. To think that the very water I drink this morning, is as old as the world. Profound really. I never tire to think of it.

I don't get bored with the ordinary, but seek to find the extraordinary in each thing around me. The barn door and how the wood tones change in time. Eggs freshly gathered, thinking about how they feed our family, and how beautiful the colors are. Garden goodness, even in January, the benefit of our labor, the blessing of the soil. Even Aya, our barn cat, so pretty and so useful. Keeping the mouse population under control in the feed room, the cycle of nature, so well planned, so perfect.

I stop to marvel at new life springing up right next to old life on the rose bush. Each containing their own beauty, in their own way. I feel deep and profound love for the Creator of such order and foresight, Honor Him for what He puts before my eyes each and every day.

Walking back to the house, with hay sticking off the arm or my sweater like porcupine quills, I stop to look at the worn and ragged basketball hoop that our boys played with, almost hearing their excited voices as they shot baskets in the still air, memories and thinking that in the years ahead, we will no doubt hang a new net and watch the next generation run and jump out there with a ball shooting out of their hands, trying to "get a basket" and laughing and yelling in boyhood pleasure. The cycle of life, it makes me smile. I suspect Mei-Ling and Elizabeth will shoot baskets too, like our girls did, like I still do on those warm summer evenings when Emery and I are done with chores but want to linger in the evening breeze.

In the house, the gray skies have left the rooms a bit dark and perhaps a bit dreary. I light the lamp and make a fire in the stove to chase away that dampness that comes on such days as this.

In the rocker, I will sip my tea, watch the birds out the window and pray a prayer of gratitude for eyes that see and for the ability to be outside, to work with my hands and have so much to enjoy around me.