Quiet Seasons

 As I sit here with fingers on keys,

words seem to fail me....as they have been lately.

Instead of words and stories and creative projects that I normally share with you,
a huge void has taken up residence in my heart.

I've pushed this computer away time after time.

Time seems short.

The desire to write, sorely lacking.
My camera collects dust.

But I needed you to know that I am still here.

Still moving through life....though in a slight fog.

Still consumed with my parent's estate and paperwork....but making progress.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

The bumps in the road are gradually smoothing out.

Comfort is found in quiet routine,
and old photographs reflecting a simple, content, happy life.

My parents and me on Port Sheldon beach at Lake Michigan where my grandparent's cottage once stood.

It's a bittersweet season.

A season of many firsts.

A season of extreme heartbreak;

a season of letting go;

a season of remembering and understanding;

a season of discovery and growing;

a season of trust;

a season of love.

My favorite watercolor painted by my father.

A reprieve is found in my garden.

Moments spent with the sun pouring warmth onto my back.

Green beans fall into my bucket.

A pail of cabbage, squash, and broccoli wait at the garden gate.

My thoughts wander to the months ahead.

Autumn.
Winter.

Spring.

More seasons of firsts....of change.

I let my thoughts linger and I hold them close.

I've watched two hatches of bluebirds hunger in their nest, grow, and fly away.

I've heard tiny wren babies in the red bed tree out front chirp as their momma brings them food.

They too will eventually spread their wings and fly away.

 I stood in awe at the strong determination of a mother turtle laying her eggs by the arbor in my north garden.

I've watched wobbly legged little turkeys follow their parents through the yard,

pecking at the fallen birdseed by the old pear tree.

A family of rabbits have taken refuge in my garden 

and scamper through the roses each evening.

Ears standing tall.

Noses quivering.

Farm tractors rumble by pulling trailers of freshly cut hay.

People glide by on their bicycles.

The mail truck putts down the road.
Pickles are canned and beans frozen.

Life quietly goes on with slippered feet.

I lift my face to the starry heavens each night and wonder what my parents are doing -
how they are doing...

wishing they could tell me what it was like up there.

I thank God for the faithful life they had lived here on earth,

and for raising me up the same way. 

I am blessed by the family who lived before me;
traveling from the Netherlands, France, and Scotland...

My mother's parents ~ and the car my grandfather was killed in.

My dad and his brother traveling out west with my grandparents.

and the family I still have around me.

To everything there is a season.

I will learn to live the seasons with a tangible void now.

I will learn to carry it, embrace it, tuck it away and go on.

I will discover more,

understand more, 

trust more,

and love more...

in these quiet, blessed seasons of life before me.

~  Eucharisteo  ~

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