The remnants of last night's toad-choking rain cling to the bedroom window this morning as small drops, reflecting trees and hills and sky. Outside, the air is fresh and clear and Barley and I are eager to walk to the hollow. Barley waits beside me at the top of the stairs as I lace up my waterproof Danner boots, and then we're off. At the edge of the woods, we startle a wild turkey, who flies off on strong, swift wings. Water soaks the rocky path and runs down into little side streams and small waterfalls. Long before we arrive at the bottom, we hear the creek, its melodious song accompanying the trill of birds. When we get there, Barley steps in and lowers himself into the chilly water, where he pivots slowly like a stalking alligator, then raises out of the water and comes close, shaking vigorously and soaking my jeans with the spray.
We head back along another path, refreshed by the air and water. Since we were here last, bird-foot violets have appeared, their cheerful faces welcoming us along the trail. A turtle, tucked tight into his shell, watches us pass, and undisturbed, breathes a sigh of relief. A dogwood leaf, leftover from the Fall, stands out against the grass, its veins in stark contrast to the shiny wet background. So many wonders lie at our feet and all around us, gifts lavished on us by the One who loves us.
The living God... gives us richly all things to enjoy. 1 Timothy 6 :17
