1. A day at home cleaning the house after church while listening to Sufjan Stevens.
2. Peach and jalapeno jam. Sugar. Vinegar. Sweet and spicy. I can tell 7 half-pints won't last longer than a week.
3. I can tell something is brewing. Turned inward. Thinking stuff.
4. The sunflowers behind the house are as tall as I am, yellow heads so heavy they droop in midday narcoleptic postures, and the bees come up from below, tell them to lift their chins another day for their sake.
5. A garden hose wrapped up for the last time. The tomatoes, I am hoping, still have another month in them.
6. I will admit that the end of the season is sometimes hard to accept. This is a gentle way of saying it. I can tell you that I need the pull of weed, hope of seed, obvious growth, rhythm and silence and movement and talking to God while I work. I'll find another thing to do for the time being. Crochet, most likely. Hands require movement.
7. Pastor's sermon this morning doing some heavy work in me, the kind that's made me inward turned. And as soon as it has cleared out some of this "doggy doo" (Pastor's words), I'll have a lot to say about the poison of perfectionism and how the effort to simply move toward something right makes Him happy.
8. I thank all of you for reading. I can tell you are here because you give me courage.