A delightful taste of fall arrived on Pollywog Creek this weekend, bringing with it the simple pleasures of socks and sweatshirts and hot buttered cornbread with steaming bowls of spicy chili. Cool breezes pushed the heavy, stale summer out open doors and windows, and we slept warm and cozy under soft blankets as the chilly night air settled in. It was nearly perfect, and just as the last few morsels of chili were heartily consumed, our little taste of fall began to give way to summer’s insistent return.
Despite the brevity of those delicious days, I am most grateful for every minute. Emily showed Gavin how to chase his shadow, and I spent hours under the trees by the pond chasing energetic warblers and an elusive tufted titmouse with my camera.
Warm tropical breezes are blowing in from the east this morning as I bask in the fallish remnants from my back porch. I’m attempting to study and write, but I’m struggling to remain focused when white puffy clouds are floating across cerulean skies, and butterflies are flittering about, and a small swarm of yellow jackets are drinking from the sapsucker drilled holes in the sweetgum tree, and cardinals and blue jays are fussing at each other in the pine trees and thickets by the creek.
The words in my books will surely remain, but those wonders? Those fleeting glimpses of God’s glory?