The sun is climbing higher in the sky, burning off the fog that has shrouded our hills during the night. Mist lies cupped in the hollows between the hills, dissipating in thin tendrils toward the sky.
The seasons are changing, slowly but surely. Each day brings almost imperceptible changes in the atmosphere, from the faint coloring of the leaves to the subtle feeling of fall in the air.
Mornings are much cooler now, wet with dew and refreshing. Spiders work busily through the night, spinning their tiny webs that are scattered all over the grass. It looks as if fairies have laundered their dainty, lacy handkerchiefs and spread them out to dry.
A red rose covered with dew drops must surely be one of the most beautiful things that God has made. It is an example of God’s perfect work, and urges us to stop and marvel at His handiwork. It is easy to relate to the line of song that begins, “I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses.”
There is no better time to meditate on the goodness of God, and let the cares of the world fade away. The only sound is the melodic song of a bird, and the dry rustle of an errant breeze weaving its way through the corn stalks. The sweet smell of drying hay comes from the shed as the last cutting is stored away for winter. Summer lingers on, but we can feel a definite foretaste of autumn.
There is someone who shares this same love of the land that I do. I received a letter from Stephen Mullins of St. Albans, who penned these words.
They are so good that I want to share them.
IF MY EARS WILL HEAR
The builders of the great mounds lived and loved and laughed in the Kan-aw-ha River Valley before the hairy-faced men crossed the big water in their wind-driven canoes.
The Shawnee passed through in search of trade, traversing valleys and ridges.
The Cherokee came to hunt the bounties of the hills—deer, elk, buffalo, bear and turkey.
I walk their trails.
The powerful Iroquois nation came to do battle and made it a “dark and bloody land.”
My ancestors farmed and timbered and mined and built. Brother fought against brother.
I live out my days in this land that has given so much of itself. I traipsed and played and swam and fished as a carefree boy of the 20th century.
Now I awaken to start my new day.
The sun shines down, the breeze floats through the trees, and dew sparkles on the grass and leaves.
The tinkling laughter of my grandchildren sounds through the house.
The wrens and the thrushes and the cardinals sing their song of joy outside my window.
The squirrels and the doves build their nests for the renewal of life.
I gaze at night at the same moon and stars that lighted Tecumseh’s path.
I breathe the air of Cornstalk and Logan.
I have a kinship with all men, past, present, and future. The circle of life rolls on.
Nature itself continues to declare the glory of God, if my eyes will see, and if my ears will hear.
Alyce Faye Bragg can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or 2556 Summers Fork Road, Ovapa, WV 25150.
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