It is so pretty here

It is Sunday morning. I'm getting ready for church and hoping the new aide is somewhere around on time.

Dad is in bed but not asleep. He is talking to the TV ever so often. He was able to get up this morning but could only make it to the little card table. I wondered yesterday if he would be able to stand. I wonder if this is the disease or maybe the meds.

But I'm looking out the window of my room. There is no wind and it isn't yet hot. Actually it hasn't been really hot yet this year. The lawn and the area around the house is so pretty. And the pasture to the south is weedy but still beautiful and still so open. But all around I see the encroachment of civilization. We are an island of open space in a sea of homes and buildings. Soon we will be overtaken by the flood. It is inevitable and unstoppable.

It is so different from what it was in my childhood. I am the oldest thing here now besides Dad and the one old tree. The old hackberry tree must be nearly twice my age I think. But it has not changed much in all these years.

I know I will miss this place. Or is the time I will miss? Maybe it is both because the place and time are inseparable.