We sat in lounge chairs surrounded by a sea of red fescue and clover in the back yard. The grass and the chairs were already hot from the August sun beating down on them for hours before we ever came out. Bees made their contented sounds around our feet.
We quietly listened to everything; the wind in the tall trees, our little goats eating in the fence row, the way the cicadas crescendoed and quieted again and the cardinal song. We both enjoyed just sitting in the shade of the tree and not talking. Talking was what we did inside the house or in the car. We talked a lot and we laughed a lot. But when we were outside, we were mostly silent like we were waiting for Nature to take her turn.
We sat there taking it all in, everything enveloped by the cotton clouds and the heat, the deep blue of the sky, the butterflies landing on our feet. She turned her face to me and it surprised me when she broke the silence, “Remember this day when I’m gone and how much we loved it.” I balked of course, “Don’t say that! I don’t want to think of that.” But I was young and immortal and didn’t like the idea that she might not be. Now she isn’t with me any more and I do remember that hot, beautiful day. Her fingerprints are on every August day.
I remember more days too, when we just sat or walked somewhere outside, at a park, on the farm, at the lake, in the garden. With yellow leaves falling on us, with a flight of geese sounding above, with the green brown of the lake meeting the startling blue of the sky, where we just ‘were’.
All those sights and sounds remind me of her now and there is nothing I can do in August that doesn’t speak her name. When I step outside into the heat and sunshine, the memories rush in and bring a smile and a soft sigh along with them.
©Sylvia D. Britton ~ The Christian Homekeeper 2020
This is so beautiful it really touched my heart! Thank you so much for sharing.♥️♥️♥️
Beautifully written, you should write a book better yet you and Glenys should write one together! Thank you for sharing this.
Beautiful!!!