Autumn Journey

I arranged the cosmos in such a way as to hide the spent blooms. It was a tough summer, and I was growing weary that the soil conditions made it impossible to produce flowers, but there was enough for a single bouquet. It was my first time planting this variety. The magenta framing the soft pink and white heart-shaped petals and the goldenrod center made me dream about getting out the watercolors. I rotated the lopsided half-gallon canning jar in the grass to display the stunning candy stripe petals for a picture. I wanted to hide the broken and tattered petals but knew I couldn’t keep them a secret forever. 

Next to the cosmos, the party dress morning glories were choking out the last of my sweet pea vines. I poured my heart and soul into those tiny, sweet pea seeds, but they only produced green. I planted them much too late and needed to nourish the soil. I sat by the vines and drew a picture in my Bible of the bamboo trellis with the climbing green and curly tendrils. The hummingbirds that visited my flowers every day danced around me with each pencil stroke. My sweet girl sat on the ground nearby, humming a song and taking pictures in the fairy garden. The johnny jump-ups grew between the bronze fairy and two brown bunnies. A miniature pink bloom popped up behind the sleeping calico kitten curled up next to the bird bath where she placed broken pieces of nature finds. 

My sunflowers and zinnias bloomed and died. A new season was fast approaching. I was delighted to see fields of cosmos along the roadside as we embarked on an autumn journey. I like to think God planted them just for me. They were the same colors as the ones planted in my memory during the darkest season of my life. I needed to return home to the sturdy brick ranch I love. My heart needed to be around the kitchen table with my dearest friend to hear her morning prayer, “Lord, the pine trees are even waving in the wind, worshiping you today, and we will do the same.” When she was a little girl, her daddy planted those pine trees that stared at us through the kitchen windows. We shared sadness because some had grown too tall and needed to be cut down. We talked about her daddy being a godly man and how he provided for his family. We recalled scriptures of the blessed life as a tree planted by the water, fearless of the heat or drought that will surely come. It reminded me of the yellow piece of paper lined with blue taped to the lamp next to my bed proclaiming in black ink GOD WILL GENEROUSLY PROVIDE ALL YOU NEED. 

The clip-clop of horses and buggies brought back memories I could only express with tears. The leaves were breathtakingly beautiful above all years, reminding me of God’s faithfulness. On our walk in the woods, we discovered yellow crocus and pastel purple cyclamen showing off above the fallen leaves. We cut through the cemetery and learned stories of dear loved ones resting. We hiked beneath the glowing trees and climbed rocks to see the mountain view. With each step, I grew stronger and more determined to keep my eyes forward and never look back. 

The field of sunflowers waited for our arrival. It was the same field I brought my children to when I could carry one on the hip and the other wrapped tightly around the leg. They cannot be held anymore but uphold me daily with love. We walked through the field and filled the well-loved bucket with the most enormous blooms. My nature boy may be tall and strong, but out of the abundance of his heartaches, he still cares for the weak ones. I watched the gentleness in his eyes as he examined a sluggish bumble bee resting on the tip of his finger. My sweet girl giggled as she cut the thick stems and peeked between flowers, searching for reassuring eyes. The children insisted on a picture with me. I tried to tuck my imperfections behind their embrace, hoping again to hide the broken and tattered.  

Each evening, after playing the piano by lamplight, we would go downstairs to the basement. As I walked to my bedroom, I could hear the laughter from the nearly one-hundred-year-old stories of children roller-skating and dancing in the great room. I could even see a mother who once tirelessly graded papers in the corner of the bedroom where my children now rested each night. Laughter and tears wrapped around me in every room as I felt the legacy of love within the walls. My sweet boy handed me a dusty old Sunday school hymnal from off the shelf. I tenderly touched the beautifully broken and tattered pages and sang the words with all my heart until my lips moved and no words came out. We drifted to sleep to the pitter-patter of raindrops on the window wells, knowing the radiant colors would soon cover the soggy ground, leaving the trees bare and lifeless. 

Pine tree bark and branches covered the ground the morning we said our goodbyes. I feared the fast-approaching winter because I knew it would be painfully dark. My favorite gardener held me close and whispered, “I’ll leave the porch light on. Come home when it starts to get dark.”