I am sitting outside on the back porch in the shade, with a cup of coffee.

I hear the occasional truck on its way to some delivery on the highway, three miles from here.

The cool air rustles through the green leaves over my head, and I realize that the season is fast approaching when those beautiful leaves will turn to an even more beautiful yellow and will make a carpet for me to walk on.

Evidently, the neighbors, over to the south about a mile and a half have a new dog.  I hear it yapping away incessantly.  It would drive me crazy if I lived on the same yard, but it’s far enough away that it doesn’t bother me.

I smell the fall scents.  Milo ripening, damp grass, crisp clean air, and the sun just ready to burst over the rooftop.

Bryce’s dog, Jaxx, on loan to us while they are in India, makes his way over and sits down nearby me.

He is a smart dog, and full of springy strength that always amazes me with his quick, darting moves. 

We sit quietly together, and it’s not long before I feel warmth on my leg nearest him.

I look down and see he is sitting at least four inches away from me, but I feel his warmth nonetheless.

And I think of something I read a long time ago about two being better than one, because with two, one can help the other up, or warm them when they are cold. 

And I thought of my good wife, and each of my children. 

I thought of those of you who have stood by me when the going hasn’t been easy, and how each of your presence has warmed me with courage and new sight.

Quiet, gentle warmth. 

And the only way to feel it is to be close enough.