August 29, 2010
He Is Leaving
The August breeze carries them,
descending
twirling
floating
like so many gold foil flecks shimmering inside diagonal rays of late summer sun.
"Why?" I ask indignantly. "Why are you falling?"
Even as the fullness of summer still gives off her scent -- life, life, everywhere!
Crickets calling, bugs crawling, the birds so busy, as the garden snake lounges in
the shady, chocolate clay of the flower bed, flush with color --pinks, yellow, purple
with buds yet to bloom.
"It's too early. Why must you do this now?" hands on my hips, accusing eyes to the sky.
"Because," say the leaves. "It's our time."
Hello,
My big brother Don Whatley passed away this morning, his battle with cancer over. He put up a good fight. I loved him beyond measure. Please pray for his sweet soul, for Beverly, his wife and lifelong partner in crime, and strength and grace for all those who loved him and mourn his passing. I wrote this little poem, He Is Leaving, after I sat out in the yard yesterday.
God sent me the words.
Peace,
Jean
