The leaves are beginning to fall; they twist and turn and delicately glide to crunch under my oxfords. The sun was peeking at me through the trees and the breeze is a tease for the hairs on my neck. The air smells like fall and has cooled to match, but carries the weight of a summer only half-gone. I had in my arms seven new books that came in the mail; I was on my way to the library, and I was already certain the seven and I would soon be friends.
The top of the hill and the end of the path came far too early, and I turned to take in the view: my building at the bottom, trees all around, books in hand. And suddenly I was aware of how very much You must love me to call me to a place like this.
I love your writing, Amy. I witnessed the most amazing sky-show this evening that our Lord created with brilliant purples, oranges, pinks, blues, scarlet, and gold. I, too, was aware how very much He loves me/us to bless us with such beauty. Keep writing, Amy. Kate Hoskins (Dollie Blackley's mom)
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