Friday morning

I'm sitting here looking out the window, and there are delicious signs of fall. The morning glory has climbed almost to the middle of the telephone pole across the street, our butterfly bushes are gargantuan with a few purple blossoms left yet, and the porch swing is swaying gently with the breezes still left from last night's cold front passing through. If I look very selectively, I can perhaps forget that the windows are in desperate need of washing and that the front porch needs a good dose of elbow (and knee!) grease and a rather vicious scrubbing.

The children are sitting at the breakfast table, giggling and enjoying each other. If I listen very selectively, I can perhaps forget that I know their humor is over the comment, "It smells like rotten eggs in here. No, it smells like throw up on top of rotten eggs in here."

Signs of fall, and signs of The Fall.

There are no deep thoughts here (obviously), just a glimpse of my morning.