One year ago exactly.
“But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness. The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head … The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on.”
September and the slow death of summer. The nights have become cool and moist. With the windows open, we sleep huddled in our strangely empty bed, an extra blanket there to keep us from the chill. My flowers are starting to die. Nothing obvious, just a slow browning and wilt here and there; but I know. I’ve become linked to them somehow, during this long, strange, mild summer.
Sometimes, I just sit in my yard and look at them – at the bright, nodding heads. Purple coneflowers attracting bees, florid marigolds dragging in the heat, delicate Guara flowers waving with the breeze. These flowers, an expression of my inward pain. Somehow, burying my hands in the dirt has brought some modicum of healing.
I fear that when they die, I might die too. When freezing winter comes blasting in, I will be forced into knowledge again. When January comes, I might simply crumble into ash.
September, 1 year ago. Still hot then. The days long and somnolent, heavy with summer’s ripeness. I know exactly what I was doing. How many can say that?
At this time, I would have been sitting on the couch in our living room, likely watching a sitcom, my son asleep on my chest. I might’ve been worrying about the future. Or, I could have been simply enjoying his warm weight on me, laughing at a show I’ve seen a thousand times before.
Those days are gone now, beyond my ability to grasp. I only have the memories. I only have a small grave, outlined in granite, watched over by Mother Nature.
Fall is my favorite time of year. The feeling of an edge in the air, a biting chill, the long nights with the windows open, and the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. But now… now, fall will always be a time of mourning for me. We had one autumn with our beautiful boy, one blazing ember of a season, and then he was gone.