but sometimes you find yourself just where you need to be. On a friend's field with sons and grandson, just as I was so many days with my Dad beginning in 1960, armed to the teeth with my bb gun. Precious memories flooded my soul just as the brief thunderstorm soaked my shirt. Some lingered in my eyes awhile as I remembered Opening day 2003. In the merciful shade of a pecan tree hard by our sunflower Daddy told me what I already knew - that his cancer was killing him, that there would be seasons no more for him. He shot once that day, balling up a lazily passing bird with his old Sweet Sixteen, before retreating to the cool comfort of his recliner at home.
Opening day will always be Thanksgiving to me, as long as I'm able. And tomorrow we shoot our field that is loaded with birds. And there was this reminder in the heavens that "every good gift, and every perfect gift comes down from above, from the Father of lights in Whom there is no shadow of turning."