Tasha and I walk to the stream in our woods a couple times a day. There’s a bend in the stream where the water is deep enough for her to get in up to her shoulders. She used to sink into the water and almost sigh audibly. Then she’d get up, shake, and bound on to the next destination. She’s learned not to shake now because her back legs are iffy. She’s content to just stand in the cool water and abide.
This week the stream dried up.
This week the stream dried up.
This happens some summers. The water rushes in March, flows in May, and if we haven’t had significant rain, disappears in August.
A few days back, I didn't take the turn for the stream, thinking why bother if there’s no water? Tasha kept going. The stream bed is dry, all rocks and mud but she plunged in as if it were cold and flowing.
And she'll keep doing it because she has faith that someday, the water will be back.
I of little faith...she of great hope.
3 comments:
Yea, Kathy...welcome to my world! You're blogging!!! How cool is this. I'll have to put you on my Blogarithms list, so that I get your updates!
Nice to have the Blogmeistress stopping by. Thanks, Bonnie.
hi Kathy! It seems to me that we writers have great hope even though we don't see it. I mean, we send out proposals and get rejections, sometimes for YEARS. But we keep doing it! Are we nuts? No, we have hope, so take heart, my friend, you have more faith than you realize.
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