Raw and Real

Riding through God’s country this afternoon I counted off things I love as I cruised by:  Old Barns in ample fields, sunflowers and their open-petaledness before the sun, willows swaying beside cool streams, wooden fences, little white churches in the country side. . . bike rides in the sunlight.

I haven’t written in a while and I realized as I pedaled up these rolling hills, that I had been looking for something spectacular to happen so I could jot it down, record it in my own little history book. Yet I am not harvesting rare and exotic flowers here, only plain, side of the road dandelions.  The everyday, the mundane, the drag of the days and all the complexities wrapped up in that–raw and real.

I crossed the one lane tunnel with a heart beating fast, the sky spread out wide and blue above me as I emerged and I realized even here, as I rode my bike, I’d been counting the little wonders of my daily, the miracle in the ordinary and that therein lies the essence of the dandelion wine.  So here I am writing again, each summer dandelion day and savoring it for all it’s worth.

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