Dear Sister,
Sometimes, even for a moment, I forget how many years have passed. I think I will come to visit you in your house on the hill. I imagine it will be spring when I get there. There will be yellow rows of daffodils along your front walk, big clusters of flowers, enough for a hundred bouquets. I will be so happy to see them and to see you.
But then maybe when I arrive, it will be summer. Cosmos and cone flowers and spider plants will lean over in their fullness on the path toward your back door. And the Boston fern by the steps will almost spill out of its basket. Such abundance. Maybe in the evening Nancy, Vester, Amy, Rob, Garnett, Dannis, you, and I will stand at the corner of your house in the dusk and watch your flower that opens only at night. We will anticipate each small white blossom as it wakes itself up in the dark in its own good time.
My dear Sister, I know it’s already autumn. You never liked autumn because it means winter is coming soon. But some flowers, some people become more dear in autumn. See the blue asters that now bloom by your light pole. They’re fall flowers. They’re beautiful. Hear the insects in the grass on their way to winter’s sleep. They sing more slowly, more softly now.
We’ll be okay. Even in autumn, you and I will be okay. I’ll be happy to hear your hello on the phone, and you’ll be glad I called. We’ll relive springs and summers, and help each other bring back to mind stories we’ve half forgotten. Your voice will sound just as it did so many years ago…just as it did…..just the same. I will know you are still there. You will know I am still here. Even for another moment.
Happy birthday, dear Sister.
