I’m sitting in a wrought iron chair on the back patio, cupping a mug of coffee while tendrils of steam dissipate in the crisp fall air. I spend more time out here lately.
We have two new puppies, Havanese litter-mates–Susanna and Wesley. The female’s half the size of her brother. We said we’d never do it again. No. More. Dogs. But here we are in training once again, ignoring the bad and praising the good.
We’ve puppy-proofed the yard, once suitable for labs that couldn’t escape from small gaps, but we’re still afraid these two will find an opening for an adventure or that a hawk seeking fast food will swoop out of the sky and snatch one of them away. So we don’t turn them out alone. That means I’m often out here before sunrise or under the midnight moon
They’ll soon harvest the yellowed waves of soybeans, I think. A volunteer sentry of corn stands tall in their midst; a doe and her babes lift their heads. A cabbage butterfly flits over clover blossoms at the edge of the field, and there’s a bluebird on the clothesline pole. Leaves are turning red, and a sudden wave of sadness washes over me.
Continued today over at BibleDude…
Still gulping the moment,
Sandy