The mornin' is lovely and new and peaceful at this early hour. For only the birds and the grandmother are awake. Her neighbor's lush, full tree has grown taller this past summer and rounded off like the top of the water tower that hovers over the Village of Oak Lawn. Hidden inside the tree a family of birds took up residence all the summer long. The parents are busily chirping and soon the Daddy bird flies out to sit atop the tree alone while the Mama bird continues to give him instructions from inside, as little chirping sounds let him know the babies are waking up.
He sits atop the tree like a miniature king surveying the landscape around him. Like any Daddy he can only take Mama's constant chirping and instructions for so long and off he flies in search of the morning meal.
So many trees beautify the neighborhood; Oaks, Evergreens, Willows, and in the spring of the year Magnolias whose soft, alluring southern charm beckons passersby to stop and look, really look, at the wonders of God's creation. This day some of the large Oak trees have leaves turning light gold and pale rust as they begin fluttering to the ground. The grandmother sighs for it's a sure sign Autumn is coming and the grandmother frowns for she knows what will follow.
Holding a cuppa tea in her hands, with a warm quilt wrapped around her legs, she looks at the dead petunia plants she babied through June, July, August and even now. But dead is dead and not even holy water could bring them back.
“Begone with you,” she scolds as she throws them away and saves their hanging pots. Not so the begonias nor geraniums for they still bloom their bright colors and, with a little bit of tender care, will still be here in October. It seems as though certain flowers like certain people and she is definitely not on the petunias' list.
The neighborhood dogs are awake now barking “good-morning” to the new day. Some are lucky for they have owners like Ken and Rufus who faithfully walk them each day. Grandma has stopped walking her heavenly goldendoodle, Bailey, for he pulls her like she's made of feathers and she fears falling down and breaking a hip. Something her adult children fear as much as she does. Bailey has no complaints he has a nice, big backyard to roam in and a tree house that he guards like a Marine Sentry just waiting for some fooligh squirrel to try and climb into it.
Church bells have begun ringing and the sounds of children playing outside are music to her ears.
A slight breeze flutters the American and Marine Corps flags that hang from the huge Oak trees outfront. She pauses to think how blest we are to live in a great neighborhood with kind and helpful neighbors so close-by.
She looks around at the swimming pool, the weather beaten deck, the home she still loves after fifty-four years and thanks Himself because he made it all possible. He worked so hard in the cold of winter and the suffocating humidity of summer to provide for her and their five children. Even in his dying days he could hear some of the seventeen grandchildren in the pool laughing as they did cannon balls and held racing contests. Even through the fog of medicine and pain he still smiled at the sound of their youthful, happy voices.
Why her heart continues to beat she doesn't know for it died with him. But on this mornin' she gives thanks and smiles for each lovely new day brings her one day closer to him.
Ah, September Morn.