Change of Seasons

While putting away fall and pulling out warm woolens I find a scarf tucked away in the attic. I sit back on my heels and remember...

Long fingers of sunshine reach through the gaps in the morning glories that have overgrown our secret place; they stroke your cheek. We are face to face, you with your short fleshy legs spread straight out, my legs encircling you, your hips just in reach of my bare toes. You are searching for the hidden pictures in your puzzle book with complete concentration, your lips pressed together, glistening, like the crumpled and still damp wings of a blue bottle neck butterfly that has just ventured into a new world. As you find each hidden treasure your lips part, and you whisper "fin' it."

I reach past you for a battered green wicker basket that is loaded with mismatched balls of lamb's wool. Rooting through it I find a crimson hank and attach it to the motley shawl I am making for your sister. It is warm enough now but fall is stealing in like the friend who no longer knocks, she just shows up on the couch while you're not looking. In just a few more days I will be wrapping your sister like a gypsy, sheathing her like the iris and day lily bulbs we've snuggled away under mounds of sycamore and sumac leaves against the morning chill.

You don't even notice as I turn the shawl and spread it over our bare knees. Part of me counts, single, double, double, slip, but by now I don't have to look at the stitching. Instead I look at a strand of the sun gold hair that has slipped from your braid. You are looking at a stray oak leaf that has drifted into our little haven and has fallen on your page. You grasp the stem and run your fingers over the veins. Expressions pass over your face, absorption, curiosity, amusement, in an ever-changing stream. I cannot resist-I say--

"Hey, Sammy."

You tilt your head and I see how your face only carries a hint of baby roundness. Your eyes with their fringe of dark eyelashes have the deepness of the twilight Carolina sky. I am suddenly struck by the bare beginning of a real resemblance to your father and for a moment I can't speak.

You hold the leaf toward me in the flat palm of your extended hand, smile broadly and say "for you."