It’s Labor Day. Monday.
It’s a good morning for a
long walk. It’s Monday, but it’s Labor Day, which in its somewhat oxymoronic definition
means I am not required to labor. So I walk…
Past the apple tree that so
shortly ago held the promise of beautiful blossoms and now bears the fruit of
the tree’s labor. It’s Labor Day. And I
walk on…
Past the beach entrance which
reminds us that the beach is open from Memorial Day to Labor Day. It’s Labor Day. Monday. Already. And I keep
walking…
Looking down the babbling brook
that feeds the still pond which overlooks the lake which holds people trying to
find a final summer memory to hold onto while wrapped in blankets next January.
And past that same apple tree
once more. A few of the apples have
fallen, I see. I wonder why. Are they
ripe already? Did the wind get them and
if so, why those apples and not the others?
It’s a week after the Monday my
friend and co-worker for Jesus and Hope died.
At age 51. Her husband eulogized her
best: “She had a good life. Too short.”
I thought about Barb as I walked on…
It’s Labor Day. Summer is
over, even though the sun would disagree.
As I walked and thought of beaches and water and apple trees, I saw a
tiny caterpillar ‘racing’ to get to the other side…
It’s Labor Day. Monday.
Summer is over. Again. BUT…
Summer is coming again. The melancholy
of Labor Day Monday is the environment needed to produce hope…make that Hope.
As in “Sure Hope”: the trees will blossom, the beach will open,
the people will return for new memory-making, the caterpillar will fly. Barb lives, to be seen again. Monday’s Hope.
So I keep walking…and waiting…and
looking for signs…“Open up the heavens/We want to see you/…. Show us, show us
your glory, Lord.” (Meredith Andrews, Open Up the Heavens)
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