A Kentucky-kind of morn

He makes me lie down in green pastures.  He leads me beside still waters.  He restores my soul. {Ps.23.2}

A weekend ago was my last in Kentucky for a bit.  Mom and I decided to wake up early and head over to Southland to volunteer in the Community Gardens.  We spent the morning picking raspberries and seeking out the most-perfect among many tomatoes.

While I was initially reluctant to rise early -- I find myself now in DC reflecting on the past weekend

and being drawn to the simplicity, quiet, and lovely way we spent the morning above all else.  The moments of that morn blended together so beautifully that it felt like sacred time -- the tranquility of dawn, interrupted in gleeful bursts of children's cries from the soccer field nearby;  Mom chuckling at my ineptness in the realm of gardening and her quick and sage advice on finding the tomatoes that were actually ripe-for-the-pickin'.

At one point, a few little boys wandered over to help us pick raspberries -- their exclamations and rapt attention to the cause added joy to the already lovely endeavor.  We even found a wolly worm and marveled and laughed together at it's fuzziness and the way it creepy-crawled along.

Kentucky -- I miss your autumn mornings already.