Well, the dry spell we’ve been having in our part of Texas is “ser’ous.” The picture here is of one of our ponds on the farm, and where I was standing to take it would’ve been knee-deep with muddy water this past spring. In case you can’t tell from the shot, it’s a hike from where I’m standing in the picture to the pond water. See that white pole on the right? It’s usually barely visible above the surface of the water.
I’ve never seen the pond as low as this, or the one at our house as low as it is. The other day, a Great Blue Heron walked across the eastern part without getting even a toenail damp.
The trees are so dry and tired, they don’t have the energy to change color this year. Usually the golds and reds are breath-taking by now, but everything is either still dusty, drab green or the sad rust color of death. As much as I love fall, this is heart-breaking.
Times like this are almost scary. A soul wonders if the landscape will recover, or if the ponds will just dry to dust and the trees will shed for their last time. This isn’t like the usual fall where everything glows in glorious color as a final farewell until next year. No, this makes you wonder if they’ll even be back next year.
When I look outside at the crackling grass and wilted plants, I have to remember,
While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease. (Gen. 8:22)
The freshness of new green is just a few months away.