This weekend Adams and I went camping in northern New Jersey. The cold was too much for us; we stayed out for two nights and then got a motel. Inside, it was the littlest, crappiest room you can imagine, but it felt like paradise.
At a writing session, my friends and I drank tea and honey. Later we ate fresh glazed donuts from the bakery across the street. There was some sitting in silent worship and some talking, but mostly we wrote.
Outside our kitchen window, the leaves are more yellow than green.
I've been volunteering in hospice care. Visiting patients and their families, for me, has been an extension of God's love.
Chester Meeting is still there, and we want to go back.
I just finished a volume of my journal. Now I'm starting a new one, a tiny hardcover with deer and flowers on the cover, gray and pink and silver on white.
I'm thankful for driving through Delaware with Linda. A huge, huge flock of birds -- what kind I don't know -- covered the sky from west to east, and we could hardly see the red setting sun.
God is with us, now and always. There's a source of peace and love inside us all. If we let our egos lie quiet, we can tell it's there, and we can listen.
We're having family over for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I can't wait to have kids of our own.
God is here for us; thanks be to God.