Sunday service on a Tuesday morning on my front porch, and an accounting of a recent trip to Laurel, Mississippi

Photo by Jodie Morgan on Unsplash

It’s a warm and windy day, and I’m sitting out on the front porch with the unopened newspapers and with Austin lying beside me paying very close attention in case a dog walks by at which point he will have to leap up and start growling and barking until he is admonished enough to be quiet again. Protecting the homestead, you know. He’s a big dog who puts on a big show, but he’s afraid of a plastic bag that blows by. Don’t tell him I told you.

I am listening to wind chimes and I’m watching the leaves move in the breeze and I’m seeing the flowers bend so low in that same breeze it’s as though they’re inspecting their flower shoes. I am also paying a lot of attention to the garbageman going up and down the street. I have a four-year-old boy’s mentality when it comes to garbage trucks. I’m just interested in them and how they work and who the people are who drive them and what time in the morning they have to get up and so on.

I am recently back from a trip to Laurel, Mississippi, where my spirit was soothed and enriched.