Fresh Mercies

I was wandering in my writing attic yesterday and dusted off this little meditation. Even though we've now entered the fall season and are in the midst of a beautiful, unseasonably warm Okanagan Autumn. I realized the fun of reminiscing back to the Spring...

Ah, a day off!

I stretched out on a lounge chair, facing full into the gentle morning sun and was quickly warmed through. There was nothing but blue sky as far as the eye could see. Joy bubbled within as I savored the freedom to be outside with no agenda.

The flower gardens joined as a patchwork quilt of living color, a collage of snapdragon pinks and periwinkle blue pansies, highlighted with tiger lily oranges and poppy reds. Like sipping iced tea in the shade of a hot afternoon, I drank in the beauty of the maturing yard. It satisfied the gardening-thirst deep within.

From the skittering ants at my feet to the osprey circling high above, the air was charged with the energy of life around me. As I opened my bible, finches chased each other through sprawling limbs of Chinese Elms to my left, pausing here and there to belt out their hearty arrangement of harmonies with no recognizable melodic theme. A robin, perched in the safety of a Cedar to my right, chirped a message of warning to our nonplussed cat lazing in the sun beside me.

Leaning back into the warmed fabric of the chair, morning-mouth greeted me as I swallowed.  Forgot to brush… When I go in next time...

A cup of tea, like soothing elixir, steamed my sunglasses as I sipped from a favorite mug, the perfect combination of milk and sugar, hitting the “spot” as my English granny would say.

Though the drying effect of the summer sun would soon be experienced by all it touched, a deep breath took in moist, humid air as multitudes of dewdrops sparkled on tips of the blades of grass before me. Like a soft, shag carpet, the thick lawn, a result of fertilizer and extra care, cooled my bare feet. Spreading toes wide into the depths, I noted the need for mowing as strands of dark green covered and tickled.

The sun touched the pages of my worn bible releasing a familiar scent to waft in the air like a ribbon. As coins plunk into a piggy bank, memories dropped into my mind. Each deposit was of time spent searching for Derksen-truths, Bonnie-anchors or hope-holds. The edges of the pages, soft and weathered, moved with the gentle breeze, occasionally lifting and flipping as if to highlight a different passage or story.

Then in the stillness of heart and mind, the Creator of all that surrounded me began to speak.

“My mercies are new every morning…”