In the stillness of early morning, not a breeze stirs the trees. A small white moth drifts through the leaves of the crepe myrtle, maybe looking for a place to hide since morning caught her unaware. The light in my fountain glows on wet rocks. Sunday morning slips in quietly, no fanfare, no trumpets announcing the sunrise. It’s a good way to begin the day.
The honeysuckle on my back fence perfumes the whole yard. It’s an Oklahoma honeysuckle, brought from my brother’s home several years ago but it sunk its roots down into Arkansas soil and likes it here. Honeysuckle is an important part of summer in the South. Can anything be richer than sitting in the porch swing on a warm summer evening, glass of tea in hand, listening to the birds settling in for the night, and enjoying that elusive fragrance drifting to me from the honeysuckle vine? As well as being ornamental and fragrant, it is a shelter for several birds who dart to it for safety when a cat comes calling or a hawk sails overhead.
This morning, a new day and a new month begin. Dawn comes in softly with a dove calling somewhere near-by and a bevy of robins rejoicing with the promise of the sun. The Lord is in all and over all and I’m grateful.
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