As I sit with my back to an old wooden bench and stare across a lush green field, decorated with the occasional wildflower, and immediately followed by a rippling pond that is being gently caressed by a swaying willow tree, I am reminded of one thought:
I cannot write.
Or maybe I should say that I cannot write well enough to describe the magnificent landscape of our family farm that surrounds me. I could go on for pages and pages about the geese and their goslings peacefully floating around the pond, every now and then having to readjust after the wind has blown them slightly out of the way. But i would never be able to get you, my Reader, to see these animals exactly the way I do. So, I have come to the conclusion that I'm not even going to try. If you want scenes of my adventures, please refer to the appropriately named "photo albums." Besides, I have far better things to write about than trying and failing to describe all of God's creations.
This trip to our family farm marks my last official leave of absence before my Tour De Force. It is almost the calm before the storm, if you will. I had planned on a little R&R on my brief sabbatical, but as I sit here, with the gentle breeze blowing through my hair, the harsh and rather tone-deaf melodies of my siblings' singing reach me. Quickly followed by my brother tipping over the hammock and all it's occupants promptly dumped on the grassy terrain below. This is going to be a long day.
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