Sunday Evening

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." — Galatians 5:22-23

It is Sunday evening and August is here.

I am in the chair by the lamp with the windows open and the sound of the evening coming in, which tonight is crickets and one frog somewhere near the creek. Biscuit is on the floor beside me and he is asleep, which is what Biscuit does on Sunday evenings. He has the right idea.

The week was a quiet one and I was glad for it. I ate eggs at the diner on Tuesday. I talked to Dan on the phone. I canned the first batch of tomatoes on Friday, fourteen jars, which is not as many as I used to do in a day but is as many as my back will allow in an afternoon. The jars are on the counter, cooling, and the lids have all popped, which means they sealed, which means I did it right. There is a satisfaction in hearing those lids pop that I cannot explain to anyone who has not canned.

August stretches out ahead of me now. The garden will keep giving. The church will keep meeting. The children will come back to Sunday school in September and I will be ready for them. Becca will call this week. Hannah may call. Dan will call on Tuesday because Dan calls on Tuesday.

The second half of summer is the half I like best. The urgency of June is gone. July's heat has made its point. August is the month that knows it is ending before it begins, and there is something gentle in that knowledge. The tomatoes ripen. The light softens. The evenings come earlier by a minute or two each day, so gradually you do not notice until one evening you look up and it is dark at eight-thirty instead of nine.

I am tired tonight in the good way. The way that comes from a week of small things done well enough.

Until next Sunday.

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