Leaves litter the ground, reminding me how seasons bleed, one into the next, as quick as a blink, while God waits for us to catch new vision. I kick back on the swing, crunching my feet in fresh crisps of color as I mull over memories of my dear Aunt Shirley. How strange I can’t call her anymore. As sudden as a Minnesota temperature drop, her brain aneurism leaves my own brain reeling. I crumble squeeze a bright orange leaf, blink away pictures of us splashing together at her cottage, of us wizening from sun and water, coming out smelling …
Christian Author and Literary Agent
