the number of his years is unsearchable.
For he draws up the drops of water;
they distill his mist in rain,
which the skies pour down
and drop on mankind abundantly.
My view may be a bit different, this photo was snapped along the Blue Ridge during my last trip, but the weather this morning is this same foggy shade of drizzle. It is a morning made for mugs of tea and wooly socks and small furry dogs warming your lap while you type with one hand. This is Novemberish weather, snuggle down and stay cozy weather, go for a walk with the wind in your face and feel alive even as everything around you proclaims the cessation of summer weather.
As I stare out the window and warm my hands on my mug of tea, it seems to me that we are like the mists, here for a while and then the seasons change and we are gone. Do we water the land? Do we hug the mountains and rest amid His creation? Do we feel gratitude for every moment we are given -- even the rainy days? Or do we scatter, frenetic and fast-paced, seeking over hill and vale for the next thing to occupy us? Do we plan tomorrow at the expense of what the Lord would have us do today?
Come now, you who say,"Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that." ~ James 4:13-15