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# Sunday evening — October 11
- URL: https://www.rubyskitchentable.com/sunday-evening-october-11/
- Published: 2026-10-11T23:00:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-11T23:00:00.000Z
- Author: Ruby Hayes
- Tags: sunday-letter

*"You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the LORD, 'My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust.'"\* — Psalm 91:1-2*

It is Sunday evening and October has settled in.

I have been living with this week's people and they have been good company. Monday the light hit the wall above the sink the way it does in October and I sat there and watched it for the fifteen minutes it lasted and did not move. Tuesday Dan called at eight o'clock and we talked about Jack's basketball and Olivia's horse campaign and we did not talk about what is coming Wednesday, and that was right, and the field guide he sent me arrived Thursday morning and I have not opened it yet because I want to open it when there is a bird to look up.

Wednesday was the garden. Henry came by without being asked and we pulled the last of the plants and loaded the wheelbarrow three times and when it was done we stood at the fence and looked at the six empty beds and he did not say anything and I did not say anything and then he touched his cap and went to town. That was a whole conversation.

Thursday I sat with this house and remembered the first April — the daffodils I did not plant, the mint along the foundation, the dogwood in the side yard, the morning the place said stay. Forty-seven years ago. The house is the same house and I am not the same woman and that is the arrangement.

Friday the psalm took the garden and held it up to the light. The wind passes over it and it is gone — that is October, that is the bare beds, that is the marigold that was there Tuesday and was not there Wednesday. But the love is from everlasting to everlasting, and the ground remembers.

Saturday I prayed the list on the cold porch and the prayer was three minutes and that was enough. This morning there were seven children in the circle and Thomas told me why Ruth stayed, and he was right, and Caleb was in his chair watching.

The woodstove is going for the first time this season. I lit it an hour ago and the house smells like the first fire always smells — a little smoky, a little sweet, the kind of smell that means the year has turned and the warm months are behind you and the house is gathering itself in for winter. Biscuit has moved from his usual spot on the rug to the spot directly in front of the stove, which he will not leave until March.

My refuge and my fortress. I trust that the way I trust the stove. Not because it explains anything, but because it is warm and I am here and the door is shut and the wind is outside where it belongs.

Until next Sunday.