Yesterday brought much needed rain to our area as the dry summer comes to a close. One thing that fascinates me after a heavy rain like this is that before long, the anthills begin to reappear in our yard. Devastated by the rains, you can imagine what it would be like to be an ant when an inch or two of rain comes rushing into your established settlement, essentially bringing rubble right down on your head!

In the midst of this late summer daydream, a breeze is indeed blowing, leaves are falling, falling down from the plethora of sweet gum trees in our woods.

During that time, I’m almost always sitting in that same chair between the hours of six and seven am. Time had ceased moving in my mind, at least for a few days that week. When I would arrive in that chair around 6:00, I would not care as I lingered over my first cup of luscious coffee, blurry-eyed and having some clue of the time when I first sat down there.

Sheep, which are not known to be the most intellectual creatures to exist on planet earth, are what I look after in some of my spare time. Ideally, I’ve learned it is important to provide them opportunities to roam, not only because they love it, but because they need it for their health. Being intentional with rotational grazing is supposed to minimize risk to them in the way of parasite infestation. So, I move them about as best I can.

Hot and humid today on this fine August morning, starting out at a balmy 79°. As the sun made its way onto the scene from my view on the patio, patches of clouds were attempting to block its entrance onto the stage. Thankfully the clouds are winning at present moment, giving us cover from the intense heat.

As we stroll the creek banks of our area, one thing that often grabs my attention in the midst of the millions of loose rocks strewn about is the empty shells, formerly inhabited by muscles. While I live with the understanding that these little dime-sized shells, usually cracked wide open, were once alive, I rarely see them alive in the water, closed tightly and enjoying their existence. They are mysterious creatures to me, one of those things on my long “Why God?” list.

Isn’t life funny? We tend to see things that grab our attention and emotions, get all worked up, then after a while, when the new wears off and the outer surface grows dull or dim, we lose interest.

Isn’t it odd how our minds work? We discover something through our senses and begin to assess the cause, or source, of what is bringing the pleasure, or offense. Our eyes might see something beautiful that in the end, upon further investigation, may be an illusion. Our ears can detect a prowler outside at night, when in fact, the tree just outside has been rustling against the windowpane.

Storms passed through our area the last couple of nights, though the only evidence was the clouds forming at bedtime, along with distant murmurings of thunder and faint hints of lightning. While we continue to be blessed by heavy dew and a mist rising at the break of dawn, the surface of our ground begs for deliverance. June brings mowers to the fields for hay harvesting…

When I was a boy, a recent transplant from California way before the turn of the century (back in the 70’s), we moved and landed smack dab in the middle of Arkansas. I was seven when we found this new place to call home, and I hadn’t really been exposed to country life. But I soon became quite acclimated to it, which meant that this boy began to learn the joys of wandering up and down the creek near our home.

While absorbed in my reading, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. Sitting in my chair, I turned a bit to my left and there in the distance, not far from the end of our front sidewalk, proudly stood a Canadian goose.

Crossing over the bridge, I made my way over the plentiful rocks and creek gravel, heaped up there over time by the hands of God. Happy to be across the creek with dry feet, I proceeded a bit further and walked up the steep incline, past the huge roots of a mighty oak and up to the overlook. Once there, I enjoyed the fresh new view of the bridge I’d built and crossed, our favorite tree and the panorama of it all.

I could remember the light show from yesterday, oh what a sight. It was mesmerizing to watch the light of the sun bouncing off of the waves in the creek, reflecting onto the bank across the water and transmitting to the underside of the tree leaves. As the leaves danced in the slight breeze, the bouncing sunbeams were creating a light show like no other.

The heads of the tall, slender grassy fields danced and waved at my passing, tossed to and fro by the same wind that was cooling my face. Droplets of rain introduced me to a bit of moisture, but I steadily plodded my course, headed to the sanctuary where the water flows and the rocks cry out.