Soap for Jesus

A leaf is a pretty small thing. It grows on a tree early in the year, sticky green with newness. It absorbs chlorophyll from the sunlight all year, providing shady dappled cover. In the autumn, some leaves have one blaze of glory before they turn brown, crinkle and drop to the ground. There they lie until they rot, grieved by some who, in the winter, miss their symbolism of summer sunshine and trampled carelessly by most who only curse their slipperiness. It leaves a mark on the tree, though - a leaf scar where it once quivered and danced. No other leaf can grow there. Leaves have the majority of their moments of glory when they're in unusual situations. When they're squished in a pile of heavy books to preserve their beauty...when they're bedecked with lacy ice in a sudden frost...when cast on the bonfire and suddenly the blaze of light is pouring out of the holes for seconds before it shimmmers into shreds and the light burns brighter...when dancing on the tangled threa...

Last week I woke up early in the morning; tired, dragging myself around, I was not appreciative of being rushed out of bed to go and clean out the chickens. I stepped outside and looked around casually as I carried the cleaning items over to the chicken house...and gasped in happy surprise at what I saw. I noticed even more when I was scrubbing down the roost, so much so that I pinched my brother's camera because I wanted to show you. Spring crocuses: Purple and pale lilac: The forsythia blooms: Unfolding its flowers: Snowdrops: Whiter than snow: Crocuses on the other wall: An overview of the snowdrops: These are only a small selection of what I saw. There are daffodil plants just starting to glint with gold at the edge. Bluebell leaves are stirring in the dirt. Sticky new buds are appearing on nearly every tree. Life is starting again God is not finished with you. Spring returns, and so will life for you. Lift your head and look at your future, not your present. Who you are doesn...

Zooming along the road at the maximum speed limit, window wound down completely, she rested her crossed arms on the edge of the door to lean out as far as possible. Rock beating its vibrant pulse into her ears, she tilted her head back to let the exhilirating feel of the cold rushing wind push against her, flowing through her hair and fiercely beating against her face. All too soon, the journey ended and they arrived home. Stopping to peer at her disheveled appearance in the mirror, the girl hastily tried to pin wild, wayward, wispy curls into her severe bun, and regain the generally tidy arrangement of her hair and clothing before running to take the dog out for a walk. Her usually languid apathy had vanished into sparkling eyes, wind-flushed cheeks and a happy smile. The actions of an eight year old girl, correct? I mean, a girl in her teens, even early teens, has to have her makeup perfect, every hair in place, the jewellery in place, the correct accessories with the matching clothe...