Threshold Thirty One

I arrived and Paul was in the fields, mowing.  Harris was in the kitchen.  A large vase of dancing,  handpicked flowers waved from the table.  And the birds are back...

Harris was laughing, her eyes sparkled.  Paul wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled at her when she wasn't looking.  Bellows appeared for the fireplace. And the greenhouse was at long last open to the summer breeze. And Diane's echo....

Tools in boxes awaited their places on the wood worker's table and shelves.  Man-Town, he called it while she giggled. The barn floated on lady's mantle, its doors opened wide. And horses and chickens will soon be back...

Thirty-one, your threshold beams.  Hopeful feet step across into a worn, ready nest.   The pegs hold hats, again.  The twinkly tin light still chirps hello.  The sink is full of freshly cut greens. Pictures hang from those stoic nails on storied walls. And a faith-filled friend is back.....