This morning as my math class took an exam, sunlight spilled across eleven year old heads on one side of the room, while dark skies and thunder loomed in the shadows. A cold front was making its way through. It carried a few lingering booms and a splattering of hail, leaving sunny autumn skies and happy sparrows outside my courtyard window.
Why do I grieve summer! Why can I not rejoice in the glory of autumn and the notion that winter will wrap the gardens in a cover of white…ultimately giving way to the rebirth of spring.? I know it is true! I have lived through almost a half century of these magical seasonal changes.
Yet the sorrow is true and my affection steadfast.
I trimmed the last roses this afternoon. They smell just as a rose should. I drank in their aroma, the curve and texture of each petal. And in my quiet reflection, I realized my hesitance comes not from selfishness, but rather from an innate passion that has been nurtured since childhood.
Summer, you have my heart.