Familes are like flowers
Just off Ala. Hwy 55 South, the gravel-covered clay road shows the almighty signs of age and improvement. It’s a little wider than it used to be, but the sides have grown thick with over brush, and each driveway is now marked with the new blue road signs. With each trip I make, the passing of time is shown by deepness of the ruts in the clay road, and never is it unnoticeable. When we pull into the drive, the scene that greets us is so different than the picture I have in my mind from the years ago. Fallen trees sit where they once reigned high into the country sky. Barns have made their descent into history. The once-bright red of the house has faded into a comforting amber. Time has so clearly made its imprint here. No longer is the drive lined with four-o’clocks and butterfly bushes. Now the only border is a carefully weeded row between the edge of the drive and the grass yard. A wooden fence divides the drive from the now green grass.
The yellow rose bush, the one my father gave her, is still in the same spot thriving in the rain gutter shadow. Small violets once covered the ground at the same spot as we hunted for leprechauns amongst the clover.
Time has downgraded the arbor to a single row. I can remember its limbs, wet with dew and heavy with fruit and leaves tethered by a single root. I always thought of the arbor as a living creature, one who each year offered her fruit as thanks to heaven above.
It made me realize families are like flowers.
Time has a way of embedding our roots deeper into the soil of our home. We must use the fertilizer of our knowledge to give our children the understanding of the world around us. With out the protectants of our morals and the understanding of the difference between right and wrong, the petals our youth will become battered and torn.
The other day I was struck by the idea that, in years to come, my children will be able to see the touch of time on their lives as I had seen today. It makes me a little sad, but also a little awestruck at the revolving door our lives have become. It is a never-ending circle of beginnings and no endings, because through each opening of the door, we begin another day.