Thursday, November 15, 2012

Seeds of Promise

Took a walk around the yard yesterday with my macro lens. At first glance, everything looks like it's winding down, dried up and brown.

Sad. Depressing. A little stressing.

I'm not a big fan of November. 

{I like Thanksgiving. Good food, lots of family and friends, oodles of love.}

Spring seems oh-so-far away.
But as I looked closer, I found promise.

All these teeny tiny seeds, just waiting for the wind to catch them and blow them away.

Hundreds of them. Thousands of them.

All promises that spring will come back. And so will sunny days and summer winds.
One flower. 

So many seeds.

So many promises.

On a gloomy, dark November day, as time was winding the fertile season down, these tiny seeds reminded me that life does, indeed, go on.
And into our lives, let there be laughter.


I was sitting in front of the computer a few nights ago, intently focused on the screen, when the Man  looked at me and said rather sharply, "Sweetheart, don't move."

Not words you want to hear. At any time. They usually mean something bad is about to happen.

As I looked over at him, sure that I had misheard what he said, something swooped down from the ceiling and flew past my head.

Oh no. Not again.

A bat.

Before you could say, "Holy bats, Batman," I screamed and was out of the chair and into the kitchen, hiding by the front door. Ready to bolt if I had to. Pajamas and all. The Man called me to come back into the living room. 

"No!" I said.

"Get in here and watch the bat while I go get a net!" he said.

"No!" I said.

"Get in here!"


He stomped out of the living room and glared at me.

"I am NOT going in that living room!" I said, rather forcefully.

"Go tell Mom not to come out of her room," he said.

"No!" That meant I would have had to go through the living room to get to her room. Sorry, Mom. It's every woman for herself when there's a bat in the house. Besides, her door was only open a crack. The bat couldn't get in there.

"Well, at least open the doors so it can fly out if it wants to." And off he went to the garage to get the pink butterfly net we've used in the past for this very thing.

By the time he got back, the bat had disappeared from the living room. The Man and I peeked into the room and saw a shadow move in the hallway leading to our bedroom.


Sure enough, the bat was in our bedroom, swooping around in figure eights, trying to figure out how to get out.

Into the bedroom he goes, and within a few moments, the Man calls me in and tells me to open the back door for him. He had the bat in the net. 

Good-bye, Mr. Bat. And good riddance.


When it was all done, I went into Mom's room and told her it was okay to come out, the bat was gone.

"BAT!" she screamed. "AGAIN?"

And that's when I started laughing.

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