Author: Nan Jones

I rounded the curve at the top of the hill — the curve that runs alongside a glorious pasture lush from recent rains. Clouds bubbled, some ashen in color. In the distance the mountain range rippled in shades of navy and slate blue. A cooling breeze wiped the sweat from my brow.

The moment was so peaceful. The morning had been difficult as David’s dementia marches on in its devastation. These few minutes of respite along our country road were like giant gulps from the well of Living Water.