I take a standing break from nailing down the plywood sheathing onto the joists, look out over the pasture, across the road and the field. Beyond the creek, the road turns west and heads up the hill, its gravel bright between the lining darks of autumn timber. The trees are bare on the bluff, jangling branches stark on the ridge against the light blue of a clear sky. Only the oaks still hold to their leaves, copper masses marking each of them on the side of the steep slope. The others have surrendered to the frosts and winds, sending a scattering in the wind.

I sip a bottle of achingly cold water, feel the sun on my face and arms. In this southwest corner inverted in the lee of the wind, the exposed boards below the siding are warm to the touch. I know that this is November but it feels, today, more like early October.

After years of disappointing rains and weeks of gloomy weather that bring winter in a month early, we have had a spell of glorious days: highs in the low seventies, bright skies with only a few, thin scattered mares’ tails drifting high. Perfect weather for hiking in the woods, for long bike rides and drifting walks through the fields. I’d rather be doing any of those things instead of an urgent roof replacement but there is rain in the forecast so I will take pleasure in the work of my hands and give thanks for weather such as this.

I look back to the south, listen to the crunching of tires and watch the rising fog of limestone dust rolling down the hill, slowly filtering into the trees and settling into the field. I cap the bottle and set it under the window, turn back to my work, giving silent praise for God’s good beauty that brings us rest and refreshing, even in the midst of our labors.

H. Arnett

11/10/10