Photo by S. Auberle

And Still, the Roses

Rising this morning at my usual time before dawn, I look out the window to see a small light moving down the road, slowly, but steadily forward.  The beacon of it lights only one or two steps ahead.  Clearly, it's a walker at this early hour when the dark is deepest.  Man or woman, I can't tell.  But they seemed determined, holding a steady pace, and I marvel at their sure steps in such blackness.

There have been great winds blowing across the land for days.  Some are gleefully calling them winds of change.  Many are calling them winds of mourning.  All the while a great moon is setting out over the bay, leaving behind its faint glow.  Across the pewter-colored sky, light is rising in the east.

Later, passing by Joel's Coffee Shop, I notice pink roses still blooming in his front garden.   At our Sunday gathering deep purple chrysanthemums adorn the small altar.

Next to me sits my friend, who grew up in Nazi-occupied Denmark.  She is very frightened today, as am I, and no words of comfort come to me that will reassure her.  We, and the congregation, look to our speaker this morning for words of wisdom, for help on how to find good in this dark time.  It is written that everything is holy he says.  Everything is a miracle.  I want to believe this, take these words into my heart to help me go forward.  It feels nearly impossible.  I think of the walker this morning with that small light shining out ahead into darkness.  I don't know if it was man, woman, or angel.  I hold onto this picture for now.  I embrace it till I can believe again that everything is holy and that there are miracles all around us, if only we have the eyes to see.

For now, it is November, winter is near upon us.  Yet still, small roses are blooming before the time of long dark settles in …

~  Sharon Auberle

    November 13, 2016