I was reminded of the changing seasons again this afternoon, while I was peering out the flyscreen door watching four or five small, mottled brown birds pecking at the grass.
They were moving along the lawn in a little band. Foraging for goodness knows what... Seeds, worms or bugs.
A small bird with a faintly green breast dived out of a tree and somersaulted mid air, catching an insect, then alighted on the stunted lemon tree.
Balls of erratic insects hovered in the air above the grass and driveway, illuminated by the slowly diving afternoon sun.
The first leaves have fallen from the Apricot tree by the fence. The acidic yellowing of their plump green leaves foretell the coming of winter. The seasons change. This is my second autumn in the hermatige. Leaves fall and rot and soak the earth with nutrients. Then bud and flower the following spring. Growing again. Each seasons death, and each seasons dawn, I am asking the same questions...
How/will I be fruitful?
What is wrong with me?
Will I ever be fruitful in the way I dreamed I would?
Is Gods all conquering love a reality in my life?
A few faint threads of a spiders web are discernable. Illuminated by the gold sun that slowly drowns in the calm ocean of sky.
the left side of my face is tender to the touch. It can be hard to believe that a deep, all conquering love surrounds you, and lives in the deepest recesses of your heart, when everything in your life looks to the naked eye to be so loveless.
