Summertime weather simmers along as daisies bloom and leaves grow green and full on the trees. The hills surround and envelop us with rich greenery that protect and comfort us. I could never get used to the flatlands that seem to go on forever, but . . .
I wandered today to the hill, Maggie
To watch the scene below
The creek and the rusty old mill, Maggie
Where we sat in the long, long ago.
The green grove is gone from the hill, Maggie
Where first the daisies sprung
The old rusty mill is still, . . .
A yellow butterfly hovers over the Persian lilac bush, with its purple blooms swaying in the breeze. Purple and yellow seems to be the color scheme on this lovely spring day, with dandelions and violets vying for attention along the edge of the yard, . . .
The sun peeped up over Pilot Knob this morning, but was soon obscured by clouds that covered the sky. The air is warm and humid, with thunderstorms threatening to move into our hills. April showers are bringing forth May flowers, with little blue violets . . .
Warm weather is still hesitating on the threshold of spring, as if debating whether to enter or let winter weather linger a little longer. There is a rumor circulating through the hills that spring is truly coming back. It was first whispered to the . . .
The spring songbirds are lifting their voices in praise to their Creator this morning; they have deserted the feeder and are singing from the tree tops. Song of Solomon says it best, “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The . . .
Bright sunshine glitters on a snowy landscape, and the sky is bright blue. It is a drastic change from yesterday’s gray, lowering clouds and snow that kept coming. It was a fluffy, soft snow that swiftly covered roads, rooftops and landscape. . . .
The very last day of February slides off the calendar, making way for the month of March. We are not sorry to see her go, as she has been a month full of wintertime surprises. A good old-fashioned winter, some folks say, as they waded through knee-high . . .
Bright sunshine glitters on a snowy landscape, and the sky is bright blue. It is a drastic change from yesterday’s gray, lowering clouds and snow that kept coming. It was a fluffy, soft snow that swiftly covered roads, rooftops and landscape. . . .
The sun is shining brightly on our hills today, although a wayward wind is laced through the sunshine. The cardinals are squabbling over the bird feeder, but it seems to be the females that are doing the fussing. I heard them singing early this morning, . . .
A few snowflakes drift down on our hills this morning from an overcast sky that seems to promise more snow. The air is still, but very cold and the landscape seems oddly deserted. Even the cardinals have left the bird feeder and gone to roost, possibly . . .
We turn another calendar leaf, and a New Year is spread out before us. Unused, unspotted and blank. The beginning of another year brings a desire to make each day count; to live it to the fullest. I am just now beginning to realize what the psalmist . . .
Buttermilk clouds riffle across the wide expanse of the sky this morning, as another mild day unfolds in the hills. One of our sons complained this morning “it doesn’t feel a bit like Christmas.” It is true that we have had an extended . . .
It is a brown and white November day, with patches of snow scattered over a brown landscape. It is bitter cold; the warm sunshiny days have retreated into the past. With regret, I discard the last bouquet of summer roses and replace them with a sprig . . .
A silvery, lopsided moon shone down last night out of a clear sky, highlighting the darkened woods and trees that are fast becoming bare and leafless. It was full last week, known as the Full Beaver Moon or Full Frost Moon. Our Native American Indians . . .
November throws her brown cloak around her shoulders and enters our hills, scattering dry leaves in her wake and bringing much colder weather. We have enjoyed a lengthy warm autumn, but now the trees are dropping their colorful leaves around their . . .
October by Robert Frost
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
. . .
There is a cool note in the brisk breeze that is blowing today; a warning sign that summer is fast slipping away. The song birds are still singing merrily at daybreak, and there are nestlings yet in the maple tree. Soon they will be warbling a farewell . . .
The sun has struggled all morning to break through the overcast sky, and is now shining down from a blue sky studded with a few drifting white clouds. A light breeze has sprung up, riffling the yellowing leaves on the trees and swaying the hanging . . .
By Shannon Georgia Schaubroeck
The summer days are fading, as they must
From endless hours to short and fleeting light
The bird’s once bright, immortal tune, now cries
A melancholy aura to the dusk.
The children fiercely . . .
We are now crossing the bridge from summer to autumn. On one side is the hot summer sun, gardens at their peak, rose of Sharon bushes in full bloom and cool swimming pools. On the other side are cooler nights, turning leaves, katydids hollering and . . .
August always seemed to me to be the tail end of summer, but the season seems to be hanging on. The garden is at its peak, while the housewife rushes to get it all canned and frozen while it is ready. This is the busiest time of the year for us, but . . .
Midsummer simmers along, with hot, humid days and sticky nights. The common oxeye daisies have given way to brightly colored black-eyed Susan’s that stare boldly from large patches along the wayside. Spotted Joe-pye weed is beginning to appear . . .
A few days ago was America’s birthday. Independence Day, commonly known as the Fourth of July, is the most celebrated birthday in the United States, commemorating the signing of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776. We declared our . . .
Summer weather has settled down upon our hills with resulting heat and humidity, while hound dogs seek out a shady spot and the youngsters head for the nearest swimming pool. The early garden crops are flourishing in the warm weather and we are beginning . . .
TODAY
So here hath been dawning
Another blue day:
Think wilt thou let it
Slip useless away.
Out of eternity
This new day is born;
Into eternity,
At night, will return.
Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did:
So soon it forever
From all eyes is hid.
Here hath been . . .
FOREVER
I learn as the years roll onward
And leave the past behind,
That much I have counted sorrow
But proves our God is kind;
That many a flower I longed for
Had a hidden thorn of pain,
And many a rugged by-path
Led to fields of ripened grain.
The clouds . . .
“Springtime is coming, sweet lonesome little bird, your echo in the woodlands I hear.” Spring has finally come in its fullness. The songbirds know it; you can hear them singing at daybreak; a melody full of hope and rejoicing. The song . . .
The sun has tried valiantly all morning to break through the cloud covering but has succeeded very few times. There are patches of blue interspersed between the clouds, bringing hope for a nice spring day ahead. Warm weather has been a little remiss . . .