Lilliputian Parade

Prairie Wilflowers

My meadow has gone wild-flowered!

Sun slants across the meadow

Lighting the white beard-tongue petals.

They are torches

Carried though the towering grasses by Lilliputians.

The flames nod in a breeze as they’re passing;

Grasshoppers spring up from the stems of grass,

They are clowns making the earth laugh.

Butterflies flit from bloom to bloom,

They are flags aflutter.

Flowers wave in the green path

Blooms of white, yellow, orange, purple, and pink;

They are balloons carried by Lillipeeps.

I never can resist a parade!

Can you?

 

Storm Cellar

10295-rose27spicnic116A storm cellar is dark and cool inside and damp and musty, but it is a welcoming place during a tornado or during a storm that might gender one. When the sky turns a ghostly sick greenish-yellow, no matter how dark and close a cellar is, it is a good place to ride out the tempest.

Looks grim, yes, but when parts of houses and barns fly, nails scream from wood, and the sound of destruction howls like a freight train––when rain pours like an ocean being emptied, there is no better place to be than underground.

This old cellar hasn’t been used in many a year. It wasn’t used the night a tornado killed eight people in our small town. Its owner slept through the big blow and only found the damage next morning. God was with her, she says.

What security does your life have for traumatic times? Do you have a refuge? A cellar like this might be enough for a twister, but for some of life’s blows it won’t do. We need family, we need friends, and we need God. He is the true refuge for man’s soul. You can weather any storm in His care.

Should you ever run to a shelter in a tornado or mid one of the storms of life, as I have, I can tell you, you will want Him there.

So Goes the Summer

_DSC8599As summer lingers with overheated days and evening thunderstorms, potted plants pine away as if they are exhausted. The porch swing is too lonely a place, yet a cat volunteers to keep me company. The air is heavy with moisture and heat. It is uncomfortable to sit outside and read; so I stay in under the air-conditioning and muddle through long days and wait for cooler days coming. I miss the out-of-doors. I want to walk and feel a breeze and hear the birds sing. Every morning, the sun comes up and pushes itself slowly across the blue dome of the sky. It sets quietly––almost apologetically––a bit earlier every day. Soon the cool weather will come. We will wear sweaters when we go buy pumpkins to set where summer plants expired. We will sip soup for supper and sleep with windows raised. I look forward, through these dog days, to autumn and the winds that will change green leaves to crimson and gold and send them fluttering to blanket the ground against winter.

Trumpet Vine

Trumpet Vine

 

The Trumpet Vine climbs on fence and posts. It climbs on the telephone poles.

It dresses the whole in a cascade of green accented with its orange blooms.

Bees hover near, but only certain bugs and birds have an avantage.

The ruby-throat loves the trumpet vines and so do I.

When I haven’t filled my hummer feeders I know that the tiny winged wonders will go find their sugary sips in the orange trumpets growing in heavy clusters from the corner fence posts.

God never forgets to feed them.