The earth beneath the dormant grass lay cold and damp beneath my bare feet stinging the soft arch of my feet as I walked deep into the yard to see the pansies beneath the Redbud tree.
Funny how we get lulled into thinking we have everyday with our loved ones, that our first step out will be met by warm earth.
I returned to my perch and the warm cobblestones looking back across the yard. The imprints of my footsteps marked the back yard and where I had been. Hours later, they remained even though the sun lowered itself against the horizon and the unseasonal heat of the day succumbed to the cool late winter evening.
Warmth and happiness find us; they do. We just have a constant reminder that each are as fragile as the new Dogwood blossoms on a March day in Oklahoma.
“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.”