Wandering Notes


Occasionally I will pause and collect the scraps up and put the puzzle out in a semblance of disorder.  Today a cool crisp 60 some degrees and a dusting of snow on the high peaks.  Then I;’ve seen the high peaks get dusted in July.  So the season changes.  Not that I want it, I would really like to see it stay here.  I have become selfish, want to keep my favorite weather. 

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The golden haze of fall is tapping at the door.  Chasing away the over bearing heat of summer.  The days of the dog have faded into recesses of vagueness.   

Most of summer was spent getting ready for the icy fingers  from the next chapter.  Paint the house, fix some plumbing and other odd n ends out side.  Tend to the garden, gather in some produce, have fresh veggies, do some freezing and get ready for the fall.  Get the drive ready for the snows, spread some more gravel. 

Life has a rhythm that is different from the city.  One has to look to self for help.  Understand what it means to be independent but reliant on God.


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The brow wiping time is but a past moment.  Sweltering heat rotates to the south to spread its wings down yonder.  Spring flows from my autumn.  Winter loses it grip to gain a new foothold.  Traveling across the divide.  

No longer can I carp about the heat, now I shall focus my attention on the snow flakes.

Years accumulate, the roof becomes whiter, the brown is subdued yet on goes life.

Now where did I place my notes.  I had some story notes someplace.  Darn it…. if I wasn’t so absent minded, I wouldn’t be so forgetful.  Oh well here comes the weekend…. Ya’ll have a good one.


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