I love summer Saturday afternoons...
We live in an "old" neighborhood where the trees are big and the houses have character, where cracked sidewalks crisscross every block and the sound of the wind in the leaves is a constant whisper. We jokingly call it the "inner-city" because our small town seems to be sprouting new subdivisions and "suburbs" at every far-flung corner. But there's no place that I'd rather be, particularly on a lazy Saturday afternoon halfway through a perfect summer...
We walk miles around the meandering blocks, finding treasures in the form of pine cones, feathers, and dandelion puffs.
We bike more than we use our car. This summer, my son learned to ride a bike here in thirty seconds flat.
My sweet aging house wears window boxes like jewels, spilling geranium reds and soft petunia whites in a summery cascade of color. She's a pretty little lady, all decked out in blue.
My yard might be small, but I spend hours in my gardens, weeding, watering, removing dead leaves and spent flowers so that more will bloom. We don't get enough sun to grow a vegetable garden, but I have hostas the size of a Volkswagon Bug. Well, close enough.
Dorothy might have said, "There's no place like home," but her words are my own. Thank you, Lord, for a place to call home. Especially on a Saturday afternoon.