I was sitting at my writing desk distracted by the wind whipping the tree branches first one way, then the other, loosening the browning leaves from their seasonal precarious hold. Like the omen of an approaching hurricane, Fall has been late this year, giving us only whiffs of cool breaths interspersed with the still prevailing warm gusts of Texas.

I called my dear friend this morning and asked her to sing for me the old hymn, It is Well with my Soul. I needed to hear the message of these words as well as her gentle voice singing it to me.

This is the first year I’m not sewing any Halloween costumes. Sadly, my grand babies are all grown up and don’t need them anymore.

I’m a collector of words. A turn of a phrase, a grouping of words, a well-crafted story . . . they speak to me. Yet, sometimes, I’m so distracted I can’t find my words. My prayers are but groans. I have to be reminded or invited to drink from the well that never runs dry (John 4: 13-14).

My husband, Tim, and I have been watching a documentary series called Native America. I’m learning quite a bit of history and geography based on the extraordinary oral traditions, written texts, and story-telling art work left by Native Americans beginning more than 13,000 years ago. This Empire’s creations centered around humanity’s relationships with earth, sky, and water.