Posts tagged summer

From the Bus Stop

In spring we watch, day by day as the snowball bush goes from a tangle of limbs to a magical green. Days pass and the blossoms of white start to appear and the green darkens among the growing snowballs. Weeks pass quickly ad we count the days until school is out. the snowballs, now so heavy that they weigh down the limbs have taken on a purple hue towards the middle ad the begin to wither and die.

Summer has come and we have watched the dogwoods change their shades of green leaves, observe the daily opening of the blooms, and
once again , watch them wither and die.

When summer has ended (way too soon) and we are back in the morning mist of August, we see that the Joe Pye Weeds are waving in warm winds beau the rushing stream.

Soon the dogwoods take on an increasing reddish hue and leaves of gold flutter down from the many deciduous trees on the hillside.
As the leaves fall from the dogwood trees, clumps of red berries have appeared in the frost where blossoms once sparkled in spring storms.

As we watch time go by, from the first buds of spring to the lushness of summer, the glory of autumn and snowdrifts of winter, my children and I realise how quickly tome goes by and how fast they are growing.

Like the seasons, we grow and change. Each age, each season having its own special beauty. As a tear rushed down my cheek when I think of how quickly my children ate growing, I look longingly at them and realise that soon, they will be watching the seasons change with their own .

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Changing seasons

As the heat of summer turns gently into fall, the deep green of growing leaves take on a tinge of scarlet.

I walk, slowly, deep in thought, down the narrow lane as rain drops begin to patter gently on the leaves far above me.DSCN2077

The rain drops mix with my tears as I remember how I loved these days. The birth of four sons during these months, the joy of life, growing so quickly as if every plant and creature knows that the time is coming for a long winter’s nap.

Now, I walk alone, the evil senseless nature of “life” having stolen one of my sons and the natural progression of time having me look up at my youngest son, six feet tall already and only fifteen.

I walk on. Some turkeys, who have become like pets, follow me along, knowing that I will feed them sunflower seeds. As they gobble and nod their heads, I think of how wild creatures survive and how hard I worked to feed 19 people for lunch today. I think of my six kids and how quickly time has passed. Now six grand kids are noisily ‘destroying’ my house.

 I stop to listen to my son and his friend tell about the bears they saw eating garbage up the road as the gentle raindrops cool my arms and cheeks. Up in the forest, I hear the crashing of branches and the crunch of leaves and I imagine that the bears are on the way down the mountain. I don’t hang around to find out.DSCN1983

 Summer is life, sweat, heat, the dreams of growing and hope of change. Autumn brings a chance to slow down, remember, smile and cry as well. Autumn always makes me reflect upon the past, some of it brings a smile, like the look of psychedelic leaves in the pasture as they shiver in the sun. Other times bring back the endless nightmare of watching my beautiful healthy son collapse on a ball field, never to come home.

 Suddenly, I remember 5th grade, a year filled with joys and sorrows, but sweetened by a school teacher who was one of the most amazing people I ever met. She taught me to love art, to believe in myself, to learn poetry that I have taught my children and grandchildren, and still remember today. Every year, on this day, I think of one of her poems, this one written by Edwina Fallis many years ago. The words float through my mind. It is called, simply, “September”.

                                                                     A road like brown ribbon,

                                                                       a sky that is blue,

                                                                    a forest of green,

                                                                       with that sky peeping through.

                                                                    Asters, deep purple,

                                                                     a grasshoppers call.

                                                                    Today, it is summer,

                                                                      Tomorrow, is fall.

 

I think how baseball took my son, his black obsidian stone shining from a hill side where it should not be for many, many years. I think of having to endure the brushes with my own death that loosing him caused, and how brave I have to be to let my younger son even go to a ball game.DSCN1416

Life and death, the mystery of which we will never know. Home. I hear the screen door as it creeks shut and I step back into the world that I often wish I didn’t have to live in. There are tiny smiles and tears living within my broken heart. There is joy and pain, the lovely simplicity with which nature creates miracles. There is the unspeakable grief that can turn a life into a nightmare.

Today, it is summer, tomorrow, it’s fall and then what? These are things we will never know, not even in our dreams.

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Summer Breeze

I am going out on my own for this weeks ” Write at the Merge” prompt, I have a favorite song that simply brings back youthful summer memories like no other song can. It was written in 1972 by Seals and Croft.

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The World is Mine!

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Just before school started I took.my son and his friend to a scenic area near our house. Even though the beautiful area was covered with graffiti and littered with broken bottles and such, my teens had a great time climbing, taking photos, just being young and free.  To see them romping joyfully around on the rocks was delightful. It reminded me of my younger days when everything seemed possible,

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Summer Afternoons

I recall the voices of summer afternoons,
my home filled with the opening of doors,
Laughing, joking, loud TV shows.
I would smile through the exhaustion
and empty refrigerator, as I told a friend
that fifteen kids had touched my heart,
left their mark, become a part of my day.

They often called me “mom”, even if I wasn’t,
Told me their secrets, whispered their fears.
Those days filled me with a sense of being needed,
appreciated, I was honored , I was loved.
Somewhere inside me, I was invigorated.
The tiredness, replaced by a special joy,
a completion of my need to be needed.

Now, the years have aged me, time has passed,
children grown, still the memories remain.
I hear my last teen walk in, laughing with a friend,
The refrigerator opens, the door closes.
“Hey, mom!” say two voices, as I fight a sweet tear.
“Wanna watch TV with us?” You bet I do.

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