Bright orange blossoms burst from our garden, green tomatoes way down their branches. Purple and salmon colored petunias spill from big pots and ripe strawberries dangle on their vine.
Sitting on our deck, I observe the morning. Is it really late August? Grey clouds hover, a breeze sends goose bumps up my legs. The orange blossoms may not turn into pumpkins and we may be eating green tomatoes in October, but I know summer was here by the small impressions: tanned hands, brown lawn, tall sun flowers, the color of my children’s hair, the sleep in their voices and the feeling in my heart that in just over a week they will be back in school and mornings will be spent differently. No more pajamas until noon. I won’t be observing the color of fruit in the garden, pulling dead blossoms off a plant. There will be other gifts to observe, different layers to peel away.
Although my sweater barely keeps out the morning chill on this, the last Monday in August, I know summer was here by the small gifts left in my garden and the big gifts left in my heart.
by J.G. McGlothern
Heartwriter's Blog 