It was a cool morning, cooler than normal for September. It smelled clean too, cleaner than any morning I could remember. I guess most people would say fresh instead of clean, but that’s what it was for me that day. There was a purity and newness to that crisp wind. The sun was bright and low, an 8 o’clock in the morning sun. The sky was wider than it had been the day before, it had to be. And blue. I had never noticed it quite this shade of blue. Cool virgin air whipped by and enticed a few leaves from the trees, likewise compelling me to remain, longer than I should have, standing on that porch in wonder at the glory of the day. This was good. It would be a good day. The wind carried with it a hope that remained in me for a long time. I feel it still now, Gods very own hope and glory, pouring out of the wind, the sun, and the sky. It was like a dream. That morning was fresh and clean.