-- Jim Elliot
This morning, with...
the night mysts still clinging to earthen valley,
the tickling of jack's frost on the end of my nose,
the splatter of sun across the banked ravine of a sea of fallen browns,
the fire-bush's burning reds between me and sunlight,
the rustle of leaves from the spooked white-tail,
the barkless sycamore's crisp white against the blue ocean above,
the honk of the flying V headed away from northering winter,
and the aroma of conifers reaching down to pull me up,
Seems like a great way to start this Thanksgiving week.
