I have good news to share with you regarding the injured squirrel of a couple weeks ago. He was visiting again today, and looks much better. See for yourself!
There must be a faint hint of fall in the air. Why else would one make a cup of hot cocoa when the outside temperature is 86 degrees Farenheit? It was only 81 when I made it, if that accounts for anything.
A “slight chance of scattered showers” hovered above the house briefly, temporarily dimming the brightness of Mr. Sun. He knew how fickle they were, and waited patiently for them to move on to greener roofs.
Stepping outside, the scent of summer no longer lingers. It has been pushed aside and replaced with an earthy, dried-grass smell. It won’t be long now until the signs and symptoms of hay fever appear.
Why must the beauty of each season have a down-side?
In spring, green brightens everything with a layer of pollen, causing many to have itchy eyes and sneezy noses; yet it brings forth beautiful blossoms. The warmth of summer causes all things to burst forth with life, from weeds, poison ivy and mosquitoes, to the fruit of our garden labors. Autumn, much like spring in the seasonal-allergy department, brings those long-awaited cooler temperatures, and jellyfish to the seashore. Winter’s snow–we aren’t even going to go there!
Maybe the question should be, why are we blessed with a bounty of beauty concurrent with the seasonal changes which wreak havoc with our sensitivities?
Do you have a favorite season, and why?
The early squirrel gets the acorn.
But the early pigeon…
is breakfast for a hawk.
I now have a widget showing my NaNoWriMo word total at the bottom of the posts.
I think of injustices, of those who are down and out and the kicks keep coming.
The clanging of the neighbor’s chimes increases. Acorns being hurled toward the ground bounce off the fiberglass patio cover with a bang, along with a few weakened branches, mortally wounded by Irene’s visit.
The wind continues to pick up, leaves are tossed briskly about, across the yard, across the neighborhood, maybe.
The rhododendron were damaged when the neighbor’s oak was removed. They didn’t like their new environment, baked by a relentless summer sun. I tired of crunchy leaves appearing daily, and today, I put an end to their suffering. And my suffering, by cutting back the ugliness. Now they are nothing more than bare sticks protruding from the ground like a modern sculpture.
The injuries to the butterfly bush, beaten and broken by Irene, are becoming more evident as the leaves wither. My mind’s eye compares the now-torn-to-pieces perennial to it’s pre-hurricane plushness. I mourn its loss.
I walk nearer, for a closer look. What I find, is life. Fresh blooms, bees, butterflies. Though its soul has suffered, its spirit thrives and gives life to those who come seeking sustenance. Looks can be deceiving. What might have been cut off and cast aside, beckons with all it has left to offer.
And my spirit is renewed with hope. The butterfly bush still manifests life from its weary, storm-battered branches, so can I. And so can you.
Hungry and thirsty, they fainted; their lives were near to being extinguished. Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them out of their distresses. Psalm 107:5-6
Scouting the Great Backyard with camera in hand, I was surprised by a visitor–one with unusual plumage.
I couldn’t help but notice the number of acorns falling from our old oak. Those ornery squirrels and blue jays will have something to keep them busy: the reforestation of the backyard. And next year, I’ll be pulling the fruit of their labors out of the flower beds and planting containers!
Thanks for looking!