Dinner tonight consisted of a dozen fat blueberries, picked straight from the bushes that line our driveway, and one plump peach that whispered, "Pick me." The tree that bore it looks too delicate to hold 31 peaches, but I did the counting myself, and that's the truth.
Dinner tonight consisted of a walk along the woods, with only the fading sun and a merciful breeze for company. The sky above held cottony clouds, with just the barest flicker of gray, which I know God scattered there for me.
Dinner tonight consisted of the happy sight of our puppy, Hunter, who had returned home when I told her not to follow me, and who sat straight and tall waiting in the driveway when I walked back to her an hour later.
Dinner tonight consisted of a stab of pity, when I found a robin who had flown just an inch too close to one of the cats, and who drew her last breath on the green carpet below the apple tree.
Dinner tonight consisted of a sad thought--that while I was dining on blueberries and walking under the clouds, praising Hunter and mourning a lost bird, my son was having his dinner among strangers, 1500 miles away--where he's no doubt scanning those faces for a friendly look, and wondering about this new adventure, and missing home.
We're missing you right back, Zachary.