It's the last day of summer, and there we are,
sitting around the table, eating of summer's best.
Dawna all frolicking and decorating the house with autumn.
And Mama makes biscuits, calling Joseph to set the table.
We're one short tonight when we sit down to pray.
William's off traipsing the Midwest, towing a Russian orchestra,
but he said the drive was beautiful.
I believe him. Cause there's a pretty beautiful creek bed full of trees
when you pop up over the hill driving to town. Sometimes I can't believe it's mine.
It's so beautiful.
It's all family tonight. We're all happy. You can tell the talkers apart from the quiet ones who just like to listen. Like to eat. Like to be there. And Mama laughs.
You know things are gonna be alright when Mama laughs . . . despite everything.
In between stories there's "Will you pass the biscuits?" and "Jelly, please, Hannah", or "Mom, this soup's delicious."
There's dark clouds rolling in, the weather man said there'd be scattered thunderstorms today. The yellow leaves of the ash tree look more autumn against that dark blue rush of clouds filling the sky above the prairie.
I looked for gifts today. When Haylee smashed her thumb in the door, and there were only tears and no stopping, I sat down. Her in my lap. Those dark clouds filling up the sky. We just waited, the wind whipping us, bringing chill and raindrops. That's how I found out.
You just sit and you wait.
If you want to find your gifts today, you watch for them.
Like for the first star at night, or Santa on Christmas, or robins in spring.
'Cause they all come. They all do. Gifts and joy are always coming.
They're in the warmth of a needy little soul against your own, how your hair blows away from your face in the wind. In the boyish handwriting of a six year old on his school papers.
Soft butter on the butter dish, and a boy eating the last biscuit on the last day of summer.