The sun shines so brightly. Leaves stir gently in the late spring breeze. Birds trill sweetly to each other. A crow caws in the nearby woods.
My husband on his old tractor hooked to the disk comes clang-clanging down our graveled driveway. Our son (who is now grown and expecting a son of his own) is riding along behind him, on their way to the newly plowed field. Visions of tall, green stalks of corn are undoubtedly filling their dreams. I know with certainty that they are in their “highest heaven,” for farming is in their blood. Daily hard work, grease from the equipment, dust from the field, and sweat from their brow all equate to “joy” for them.
Our life is simple. Our needs are few. Our wants are negligible. And the important things–love, faith, and compassion–are plentiful. Even our health in these, our waning years, is reasonably intact.
With grateful heart, I look up into the clear blue sky. A jet zooms over our little farm, taking others to white, sandy beaches or to cities with a million lights. But the bees hovering around my lilac bush hum a song of peace to me. Yellow butterflies dance a silent dance among the wildflowers. And the droning of the tractor in the distant field blends with the breeze that whispers in my ear, saying, “You are, indeed, truly blessed.”
Linda Garrett Hicks