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Among the Grain and the Lingering Roses
As the
pumpkins appear along the roadside, and the corn is in need
of harvesting, I know fall has arrived.
The pompous
grass in our yard, that towers high above my head, has
plumes now and the maiden grass will soon be turning the
color of straw. Chilly mornings and damp evenings, with
leaves sticking to the soles of shoes, will be tracked into
the house announcing God??™s change in the seasons.
The
neighbor??™s garden has all but disappeared, as tomato vines
hang shriveled; the tomatoes are all eaten, or put away into
jars. There is a stillness lingering amongst the harvest.
The moon shines big and round on clear nights, as black cats
dart through the yard and across the street.
Neighborhood
kids are strolling leisurely kicking rocks on their way to
school. They leave in the morning with jackets and sweaters
and return in the afternoon, dragging them along on the
ground behind, as the sun determines it??™s not yet winter.
The perennial
garden is becoming spares as summer??™s Day Lilies, Irises,
Bee Balm, Peonies and other beauties, have relinquished
their splendor to a few of fall??™s lingering lovelies. All
evidence of summer has disappeared, except for that one rose
bush that always tarries. God must know I watch for it ever
year. It talks to me with its enduring crimson tones. It is
the last beauty to give in to old man frost.
Night comes
sooner, and morning comes later, with sleep patterns
changing. I arise later than usual, and notice the birds are
busy at the feeders, and squirrels are actively stashing
their haul.
A trip to the
pumpkin patch for assorted colors of Indian corn, bundles of
dried corn stalks, and a stack of straw plus three pumpkins,
one for Bill, Missy our dog and me, lends to the knowledge
that indeed a new season is upon us. As we return from our
country drive we see soybeans dangle in pods waiting their
harvest and corn stalks with husk still not yet all
harvested. Red plump juicy apples from the orchard taste
crisp and tart; it is a time of reaping the fruit and the
grain. It is a time of giving thanks to the Almighty, the
one that provides and gives change to the seasons.
Nighttime
rolls in much too early; I realize soon winter will be upon
us and I know that the progression of time is not in my
hands. Someone greater than you or I decided the seasons and
the passing of time; I relinquish now my days into His
hands. I bow my head and am thankful ??“ a season passes ??“ I
move on in time. Spring will come again; youth will sprout.
When winter dies and time evolves, my grandchildren will
stand amongst the lilies, as I stand amidst the grain and
the lingering roses. And - I will know, that God has me in
the palms of His hands.
God, I am in
awe of your power and your might in changing the seasons.
Thank you, for the beauty you surround me with, no matter
the time of the year. Help me remember as my days dwindle
down, that your hands are upon me. Amen.
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Betty King, is an author, freelance writer and newspaper
columnist. She is also the winner of the July "Starfish
Writers' Contest. Visit her new website at:
www.betty.newsmoose.com
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