The line after line of windmills dot the rolling hills, and though it makes sense in such a windy place, I would prefer to not have the mesmerizing motion of all those energy makers on the landscape–but that is the key: energy.
There have not been many wildflowers on the valley floor, but the hills are alive with color!
Not this year, but it was a great poppy year last year!
I will rest walk.
I will not flit from flower to flower like a butterfly,
capturing this and that in my digital memory.
As fun as that is, next time,
I will think walk.
I will not adrenalin-rush the next tooth and claw scene,
trying not to miss, trying not to blink.
I will pray walk,
absorbing the wonder, wondering at the wandering soul I am,
loving the undeserved gift for itself in just this moment.
The young and vibrant are praised just because–
all that color and life, a grace.
But even in the light grip of the wounded and aged–the letting go–
there is a glory.
There is beauty in the fallen and glory in the shadows.
Loss is not loss, just change; and
all is grace.
Purify my crooked little heart, my tired heart, my heart so full of idols.
May I seek You with my whole weeping heart in these days,
these seeing-only-one-step-ahead days,
these tearfully trusting pavement-beating moments
when I hold on to fragile faith.
Lord, shine through will and world and cover me.
I moved the feeder further up and out!