By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
As I write this, I’m looking through my office window that is neatly in view at the top of my computer screen. A butterfly flits from orange cosmos to orange cosmos tasting and sipping, dealing happily with the loss of daylight we humans complain about.
Yes, in August we lost thirty minutes of morning light and 30 minutes of evening light according to our clocks.
What would it be like to live without clocks? Or calendars? To simply follow the seasons, rise with the sun, and not deal with disrupted circadian rhythms.
Like the butterfly.
I may experience a little of that freedom this week following surgery on my right hand for a finger that locks in a bent position. Writing may have to wait for a while.
For me, that’s like saying that breathing may have to wait for a while.
However, peace prevails, for the Lord reminds me of the deep comfort I’ve experienced from trusting Him . . .
“Don’t worry about anything;
instead, pray about everything.
Tell God what you need,
and thank him for all he has done.
Then you will experience God’s peace,
which exceeds anything we can understand.
His peace will guard your hearts and minds
as you live in Christ Jesus.”
May you choose peace in the coming days.
~
Choose peace Share on X
“That was Josiah Hanacker and his two children,” Corra’s sister said. “A rancher up Texas Creek. The canyon cuts south to the Wet Mountain Valley, and the stage road runs right through his property. He was real regular in church, even living so far out, before his wife passed two years ago, poor man.” Letty rolled her lips and wagged her head again, a sure sign of sympathy. “He’s raising those children alone, with his crippled father’s help.” She caught Corra’s eye. “If you can call that help.”
After the brief break, Corra spent the remainder of the morning contriving details around Letty’s explanation. A keen-eyed widower raising two boys alone on a ranch in the mountains sounded like the perfect scenario for the novels tucked securely beneath her unmentionables. Her paper beaus, Letty called them. Though Corra knew her sister meant no ill in the teasing, it stung. Corra’s suitors had always come under cover of book bindings and daydreams. They still did.
Fidgety with nervous energy, she left for the mercantile to check the mail.
Not that she received mail. With Mother gone now, who would write? Only newspapers she’d ordered from back east and an occasional magazine came her way. But she needed to get out of the house, far from the images swirling in her head of a range-riding cowboy and his motherless sons. The bell clanked as she stepped inside Hobson’s store, and the owner greeted her from atop his ladder perched against high shelving.
“Be with you in a moment.”
“Take your time, please. I just came for the mail.”
Mr. Hobson reached too far and the ladder tipped then settled back. Corra gasped and covered her mouth. If the portly man fell and broke his teeth, her brother-in-law could help him. But what if he broke an arm? Or his neck? ~”The Wrangler’s Woman” in A Western Romance Collection
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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(c) 2026 Davalynn Spencer, all rights reserved.
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