Thursday, November 8, 2012

Pansies...

I felt the need to plunge my hands in the soil, dark, moist and damp between my fingers.  Add a little color to the porch in way of bright mums and pansies.  A flash of life amidst the falling leaves, brittle and brown, covering the fading green of the lawn.

Life in a sea of death.

I have always loved fall, but this one feels different.  Everything feels different.  The luscious colors in the trees, deep mustards and brick reds, are heavy on my eyes and heart.  I look at each leaf, different shapes and sizes and colors, and I can't help but think, "When she died, these were new, just beginning."

Grief brings about a different perspective on the world and every little thing in it.

I was drawn to the pansies.  Can't say I have ever really planted them before, but this year, they called my name.  There's something so interesting about flowers that thrive in cooler temperatures.  It seems so far from what flowers should like... sunny, warm days would be my favorite if I were a flower.  But the pansies prefer a little lower sun than that of June, a little cooler temp than that of the summer.

I found a little planter already established with lovely periwinkle colored blooms on the clearance rack.  There were some dry areas, but I knew the planter alone was worth the $4 price tag.  I picked the dead pieces off and gave it a little water and found a place for it on my front porch.  This morning the pansies were cheerful, and it made me hopeful that they liked their new home.

In another planter, I mixed a variety of bold colors, plum, vivid yellow, deep crimson, and white with a dark center.  In a couple of weeks, they will all intermingle with one another and be a lovely mound of autumn color.

I am feeling so varied like that pot of pansies.  So many colors.  Mixture of emotions.  My mind seems to spiral in weird swirling motions, unable to focus on much of anything at all.  With the fall came the leaves and less sunlight and yet, still, more grief.  The grief never runs thin, I am finding out.

I look around me.  It all moves forward.  Another season beginning.  It reminds me of a passage in Ecclesiastes.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.  {Ecc 1:3}

There is a time for the leaves to fall and for them to spring forth from the trees again.
A time for flowers to bloom and to wither away.
Even a time to dance and a time to mourn.

But how long is the season of mourning?  No one knows.

If I seem off, it's because I am.  If I seem sad, it's because I am.  If I seem disinterested, detached, unfocused, it's because I am.  But I remain hopeful I will find a way to thrive.  If not today, if not tomorrow, somewhere right around the bend.

I will be like the pansy one day.  I will thrive with a little less light.

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