I stepped out into the day, the Labrador scrounging for pieces of his food I’d spilled from the container not tightly closed.
Quiet except for the sound of his bowl lightly shifting against the floor as he dines. He glances my way, lets me be me. I believe he understands, the tennis ball rests in far corner for now.
My feet are in the soft moist grass, shifting with my steps, resting places for the view.
The sun is making greener the ground, illuminating the morning.
Purple blooms are leaning down, they’ve flourished more than before, the rain, the sun, the soil.
Must have been just right this time.
Fragile blooms, antique in appearance, the Rose of Sharon, has grown as high as the windows and will continue through September, up, up, upward towards the sky.
I’m alone in our morning yard, unconcerned over the back door open too long in August or eyes from houses on other sides of fence, pondering me as I ponder.
Grace has brought me here. Grace, the committing of my morning and my days to God.
For quite a while, I’ve been this way.
Quietly accepting come what may every morning and praying by God’s grace it goes long, longer every day into my days.
Grace, living according to grace thus far.
…that we may receive and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16