Suddenly it’s August and so hot, a breathless hot—heavy and ripe. I wash plump cherry tomatoes, pop one in my mouth; savor the sweet burst of summer.
Summer surrenders her final stores.
As we harvest our gardens and prepare for autumn, let’s pause to glean a memory of summer. I gather one of own mine here.
I’d love it if you’d share one of your summer memories.
Be still and know I am God (Psalm 46:10).
Traces of night shape subtle shadows along my bedroom walls.
I rouse to a call to immerse myself in this moment — and hush the hurry.
So, rather than rush out of bed, I reposition myself, and my mind, to connect with my surroundings and myself.
And the Lord.
My terrier-poodle walks across the hills of blankets to give me a soft lick on the arm, as gentle as the start of this day. Then he settles his back into the curve of my torso and curls in alongside me. His body releases a deep sigh that feels like a letting go, a freeing.
From the open window at my head, new air skims my face, air laced with lilacs. I drink in its cool sweetness.
I am an audience of one at the birds’ morning recital. Robins sing to the day’s opening. Outside my window, hummingbirds’ squeaks and staccatos harmonize with the whirrings of their wings. Chickadees’ trills and sparrows’ crescendos uplift me. In the distance, a loon’s wavering tremolo reminds me to stake a claim, not to waver from this serene moment.
I notice the absence of the wind chime’s melody —the air stills, as we must.
An awakening at daybreak.
In His stillness, I am free.