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Monday, 26 August 2024

Gentle

 

A gentle breath of wind rustles the low-hanging twigs from the larch tree, rocking them back and forth. Beyond them, the field of ripening grain stands unruffled in the stillness, golden and tender.

The rowan berries cluster in orange bunches, darkening daily towards the deep red they will reach.

Not a hot August day, but a very pleasant one.

So much to do in the garden; so much to do in the house; so I sit here and contemplate the beauty of creation.

The boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places, and I am forever grateful to God for his grace and mercy. Praying for all whose peace is shattered by violence and aggression; come, Prince of Peace.  

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