Sierra V. Fedorko

Every season in the garden holds it’s own kind of lighting. Winter is sharp. Spring is soft. Summer is warm. Autumn is gold.

The in-between days of summer and autumn are an absolutel treat. In these days I get a mixture of soft, warm, and gold. I can sense the anticipation of quieter days, of Thanksgiving. The garden has cheered long and loud…what’s left are lullabies of the very good blessings we’ve known and the blessed assurance that Jesus is ours!💕

The sun sets so warmly, it drips a sort of orange light, casting everything haggard in soft vibrancy of life again. It’s the best of old age. Crow’s feet made by laughter, seen all in the eyes. I savor every last step on the warm garden stones, every rose bloom which has waited for such a time as this. No spring for its audience, but the rose blooming anyway for that’s the way of its story, and I notice it perhaps moreso than all the roses which bloomed so loudly and so many just this spring…

These are long, hot days still and they are some of the slowest in the year and if only we sat a little while longer in the in-between we would see how the warmth and softness and all the gold kept tumbling together.

Delight if only we looked its way…💖