July's finish, then the days of August have passed like bands marching by in a holiday parade. These days, going past in an accelerated rhythm, have not waited for me to get in even one August blog before the calendar turned to September. But September is a month for beginning again. So, as the children begin a new school year, and new vegetables go into the ground for my fall garden, I am back!

I have kept journals for years, and find this 2009 variation has many of the same considerations. One of my favorite authors, Luci Shaw, discusses some of the benefits of journal keeping. She mentions the collection jars we used to put lightning bugs in when we were kids and likens a journal to one of these collection jars! I like that. A journal, or a blog is a place to keep impressions or experiences so they are not forgotten.

"Such solace at a phrase just written down,
Relief that now it's firmly pinned in place-
An insect stilled that recently had flown
but snagged its wing in this dark brainy space
to be subdued, place marker for collections
of other airborne words, termites, or humming bees,
for me to sort and shift and make selections.
When the assortment's fixed the writing flies."

~Luci Shaw, in A Syllable of Water

If you would have a lovely garden,
You should have a lovely life.
—Shaker Saying

Summer Snow

When Maddie and Skye were playing on the back porch a couple of weeks ago, they walked along the sitting wall which made them eye level with the overhanging branches of the white crepe myrtle that are heavy with blossoms. I had so much fun watching them swatting at the bloom clusters and squealing when the petals showered over them and floated to the ground. Summer snow! When all the available blooms were harvested, they had the snowflakes in their hair and on their shoulders, and the porch was covered with petals. Time for a snow cone? Summer heat, summer treat!

Thank Heaven for Little Girls

From peanut butter and polka dots to puppy dogs and paper dolls!

Dance With Me!

This is Maddie and her new friend, Roxie. They hear the music!

Eastering

Dusty road, despairing pair,
Putting one foot in front of the other,
Grieving, bewildered, unaware.

Preoccupied with deep loss
Seeing once more that recent horror,
Their friend’s awful death on a cross.

Dulled by painful sorrow,
Immersed in tangled thoughts,
Anxious about tomorrow,

Barely noticing one coming aside
To question their troubles,
Matching their stride.

Their vision was clouded with doubt and tears
So, recognition delayed,
They told him the news and their fears.

No reproving or chiding in his talk
As with clear understanding
He walked their walk,

Then joined them in a simple meal.
It was bread that was broken.
By this they saw what was real.

Tears were gone, hearts on the mend.
It was as bread was broken,
That they knew their dear friend,

And learned by heart what eyes had concealed.
That He was with them.
That first Easter, in Emmaus.

I travel my own path far from Jerusalem.
Am I blinded by what comes next to do?
Will I know what comes next to be?
In the breaking of the bread, I remember Him.

I see with my heart, not my eyes.
With is a powerful thing.
Eastering, again.

Mary Ann Parker