Monthly Archives: September 2014

Cloudy ponderings

I inadvertently had to think about the summer mishap, as I hung out my laundry this afternoon. The sky was overpopulated with clouds, some gray, some white, and some of a rather more than ominous dark gray. I felt like they were mocking me, as if to say: “go ahead we dare you, we have plenty of rain stored up”. Another quick glance at the Internet weather site: “Overcast, cloudy, 0% chance of humidity”. I hope the Internet is telling the truth.

Walking to the library under the cloudy skies was a nice change of pace from the bright skies the past few days. There is definitely a hint of fall in the air now. The ginkgo trees (written about so much by Goethe) are still a vivid green, but a few of the leaves show a just hint of the glorious golden-yellow yet to come.

Have a blessed week, in Jesus name. Amen.

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First Day of Fall

AvocadoAlthough the wind did its share today in rustling and whipping through the leaves in the trees, it accomplished little to nudge them into a descent. Perhaps it had more success in other parts of the Country. Blue skies and sun pervaded at least the East Bay today. Our leaves turn color late — a lazy bunch here.

A bit tired and lethargic today, I nonetheless baked some banana bread this afternoon, and was rewarded with the sweet aroma of it drifting from the oven, when I opened the door a couple of times, to check its progress. Leftover food cleanup today, I also made an avocado sardine sandwich — which was a first for me, and it’s not bad at all, if I may say so. My cat Calvin also had his first sardine of his feline life, just devouring it, without lifting his head even once. I have never seen him eat like that. So — brain food for the both of us — we both hope with positive results.

May the Lord bless you with his peace on this quiet Sunday evening, and for the coming week.

Summer Memories

As I sit at a new small wooden table with my brother Holger under the Linden tree, a slight drizzle ensues. The table — a birthday present — is made of a very unusual wood. I don’t know what kind of wood it is, but it has a wonderful aromatic smell and it changes to a darker color when it gets wet, revealing the intricate pattern of the wood grain. Wood grain has always had an attraction for me — nothing compares to its natural beauty. We are enjoying the last of the late evening summer light under the canopy of the old tree, listening to the stream, and enjoying the smell of rain in the air. “Oh crap, my laundry!” I jump up and run behind the barn to retrieve several towels and some pants that I had hung outside to dry. I keep forgetting, that unlike California, where its dry from May until November as a general rule, the rain has its own timetable and playful unpredictability in Germany. Oh good — the laundry got only slightly wet — I hang it over some chairs in the barn. My brother grins at Mr. Forgetful, as I reemerge from the barn. “Wipe that smile off your face!”

I can be as quiet as a church mouse, but when I come from the barn in the morning to go into the house, I am always detected by Holger’s dog Moana. “Good morning girl!” She rolls on her side, and I rub her tummy as she wags her tail — a happy dog. As I turn on the burner under the water kettle, I see a tiny snail stuck to the outside of the top window pane. That’s quite a climb you have accomplished there Mr. Snail — your own skyscraper assent. I wonder what inspired such an endeavor.

The four wild cats have detected me as well, and are jumping up against the glass door, paw prints everywhere. Alright, alright, already — one order of crunchies and warm milk coming up. Usually I can pet them just a bit when the milk is served, as greed then outweighs fear, although they still shrink back or dart away sometimes. There are two new wild kittens, one of whom I am able to pet now, as he has discovered the milk dish. The kitten usually shows up only at dusk though.

It’s time for a walk with Moana. She has waited patiently for me to drink my cup of tea. She loves the morning walk through the forest, and as we get to the large downslope, she waits behind the same tree where she always waits on every walk, looking expectantly at me to throw a rock down the slope. When I throw the rock, she goes tearing down the hill after it at breakneck speed, once in a while even overtaking the rock. She doesn’t necessarily return the same rock that was thrown however. But then again, retrievers are not exactly know for being the brightest bulbs. The rock is then proudly carried in her mouth all the way back to the barn. She has a collection of them next to the stream, some of which I occasionally take to reuse on the walks.

Skipping to evening: the Linden tree, the barn, the house and the meadow have all melted into a charcoal darkness. A few bats — fleeting shadows — are flying over the stream (briefly barked at by Moana until I hush her) gathering up lots of mosquitos one hopes. Blink, blink, blink — three fireflies have appeared. I love fireflies, one of God’s prettiest creations. I opt now to go for the same walk I usually take in the morning, to see if I can meet more fireflies. It’s almost pitch black now. I am rewarded soon: more and more fireflies turn off and on here and there, occasionally illuminating the silhouette of a tree. They make me so happy. On the way back, I count twenty-five of them, or did I miss a few?

Have a blessed week