This morning as I was getting ready for work I peeked out the window at my herbs to see if they needed watering. They didn't, but the scene was too inviting to pass up. Here's Tom Morris, wiping sweat from his brow before going at it with the tiller.
(Sorry, I'm going to wax poetic/cheesy now.) Something about the mist and dew and streaming sunshine seemed like the Lord telling me it's time to have yet another new start. And my purple daisies, which came back blossoming again from the near-death of our steamy summer, reminded me of part of a song:
"Thou Breath from still eternity
Breathe o're my sprit's barren land
The pine tree and the myrtle tree
Shall spring amid the desert sand
And where Thy living water flows
The waste shall blossom as a rose"
Well, here in Hoptown we've got cedars instead of pines. Crepe myrtles rather than the biblical kind. Red clay instead of desert. And, in my flower pot of yellowed stems, daisies instead of roses. But I was inspired anyway. :-)
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