September Sad Song

The leaves of September begin their journey into the flaming reds, the pumpkin oranges and the amber hues of sunny days gone. This September the transition hurts like never before, symbolizing the beginning of the end of a season that began with excitement, hope and no certain knowledge of the end of my mother’s life. I have an urge to run up to those leaves and yell “Halt!” Perhaps if they do not change and do not fall away, dry and crackling, the supple textures will linger for just a few more months and I will not have to face the permanency of the loss. Perhaps I can pretend that I can run back to my Black Hills and she will be there as always, with her arms open and her gentle wit as sharp as ever, ready for a new day.