The winter sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long
shadows across the ploughed field. There is a rosy tinge to the sepia of
winter, highlighting the brittle branches of scrub in the boggy field beyond.
The telephone poles stand at attention, one side bathed in
morning sunlight, the other swathed in shadow.
I am grateful for the sun, winter and summer. Face turned to
the Son, I sing his praises and want to walk in his light throughout this day.
I am aware of the darkness behind me, but behind me is where I intend to keep
it, with God’s help.
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