It was darkening by the time I returned from the store.
That's happening a lot earlier these days,
and I am not pleased.
I love the sun.
I love a reasonable amount of heat.
I like long days,
with lingering sunlight,
lengthening shadows,
sunset coloring the sky for a good, long while.
So as much as I enjoy the onset of fall-ish weather,
and as glad as I am to re-enter some
semblance of a schedule with the
start of the school year,
there is a part of me that feels
a little bit lost,
and a slow, creeping sense of sadness
as the dark claims more and more of the day.
But in just the two minutes
that it took to drop my purse on the bed,
look for an anticipated email,
(it wasn't there),
and rattle down the list
in my head of what needed to be done
in the next 45 minutes,
I glanced out the screen door
and saw this glorious spilling
of crimson,
lightening and brightening the
growing gloom of too-early nightfall.
radiating hope
and light and
stunning, stop-me-in-my-tracks beauty.
Something about the depth of color,
the strong, familiar scent,
the sturdy call to pay attention?
I'm not entirely sure,
I just know I love them,
and they always stir
something joyful in my spirit.
I like them best
when they're on the bush,
lending their glamour to the garden,
forcing me to look,
and to look again.
It seems almost a sacrilege to cut them,
although I do it from time to time.
Even red roses need pruning,
dead-heading,
trimming back.
this one will be trimmed, too.
But right now,
tonight,
when I'm pondering
a proposal that surprised me,
wondering if this is what's next
on God's plate for me,
I will enjoy their vibrant cry
for my attention.
Red is the color of hope,
I'm told.
And of life.
It is a scarlet thread that weaves
its way through scripture
and my life,
splashing passion,
crying 'courage!',
promising good things ahead.
Joining with Jennifer, Duane, Emily and Ann tonight:
