an early morning thunderstorm rolled in across the hill, as i sit in my parents’ kitchen. i am bundled in fleece socks and a sweatshirt, hood up to draw in warmth and comfort. my space this morning occupies a rocking chair, where i sit with coffee (dark and strong) in one hand, and The Horse and His Boy in the other. the storm produces a low rumble. the rain sheets blow across the pond. the birds have gone, seeking cover. the wind chimes gently clang and bong. my dad (who, since moving to VT has found peace and joy) turns on the stereo, and William Fitzsimmons begins to play. as he unloads the dishwasher, i take it all in, breathe deep, and know that life is good, and God is great.[a journal entry from 9 september 2009]
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