By Elizabeth Prata

I love to look at the scenery as I drive. I live in a rural area and instead of the waves on the ocean that I used to see in my former state of Maine, I see rolling pastures and waves of wildflowers. As I trundled up the road, I viewed fields embrowned with crunchy grass heated under a southern sun. The horses grazing in the pasture swishing their tails in a synchronized busy back and forth, swatting away the buzzing flies bothering them under the southern sun. Wrinkled balloons tied to a mailbox bobbed hopefully in the heat, welcoming someone to a shower or a graduation or birthday.
Continue reading “Seasons are a common grace of life”


