Morning has come. Rising, I head for the kitchen. With one, quick push of the button, hot, fresh coffee (that nectar of the gods) spurts, steaming, into my favorite mug.

Dear friend, I’m sending you this letter because you’re on My mind. Perhaps it was the colors, all the purples, reds and pinks with the yellows and oranges a-tangle. And

I’m running down our country road. To the left, fields of corn roll, tassel topped and green-vibrant. To the right, acres of beans, wet with dew, are kissed by sun’s