The Fall Season Calls My Name
by Mary Alice Bowles
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THE FALL SEASON CALLS MY NAME
My Dear Father:
Let’s me and you talk as I take my evening walk
I have to tell you that it is this season
when I feel your spirit boldly bouncing in my soul
The evening sun captures my face
I lift my eyes toward the heavens.
Autumn is in the know
“Oh My Father God, how beautiful, Catch me Father, Catch me
Let me be on your level”.
I go tip-toeing up the rims of heaven, peeking in over the colors of autumn
This day really rocks
The orange, blues, and yellows of the autumn sky invite me to take a look beyond the mountain top
A light cool wind, as it catches my sweater, and gently lifts it from my shoulders
A little giggle touches the corners of my lips, I say, “here sister wind, If you want my sweater, you can have it”.
I take if off, throwing it into the air, watching the winding wind take off with it as it goes skipping through the yellow, brown, and orange assortment of singing leaves. I watch it flop and settle in an inviting heap at the very top of Hardy Lake Hill.
That green and yellow sweater of the class of 1932 calls me to a rest on top the hill.
I lay back in total peace as my eyes close in beautiful slumber.
Suddenly the wind begins to whistle to the tune of “Amazing Grace”
That hill is ablaze with every kind of living creature, they all gather round me
My heart stands still, “Is this for real”?
That long tailed red fox that I chased last spring stood straight up in the shadows of the setting sun. He has a bronze fiddle in his two front paws, all of a sudden we were singing, “I’ll fly away, Oh, glory, I’ll Fly Away”.
I have never heard or seen anything like it, those two grey squirrels that live in the old oak tree had a five string banjo going on with their swishy tails, Swish, Swash,
Swish, Swash, and here I go a swishing and a swashing with them, as we swished out that beautiful old hymn, “Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me, glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me, it must have been the hand of the Lord.
Mr. Ground Hog was singing that Johnny Cash song, he sang the daddy base part, Mr. Chipmunk sang the tenor momma part, and two tiny baby rabbits sang
the brothers part. I know you have heard that song haven’t you? It goes like this: Daddy sang base, momma sang tenor, me and little brother would join ring in there.
I sang all three parts, my voice echoing and vibrating throughout the hills and dales of the air ways at Hardy Lake. I could just see the family circle in the clouds.
All of sudden, up over the hill, this family of rabbits comes marching, hundreds and hundreds of rabbits, little ones, big ones, brown ones, white ones, black ones, every color of rabbit that God had ever created was marching in that band as they sang, “Oh when the saints go marching in, Oh when the saints go marching in, Dear Lord, I want to be in that number, when the saints go marching in!
As the last rabbit was marching by, he stopped and took both my hands in his, put a tiny set of drums across my neck, and motioned for me to follow him. I stood to my feet in total elation as I took those drum sticks in my hands and up the hill we marched, foot for foot, paw for paw; I was the newest member of that marching band.
As we passed the lightly glowing persimmon tree standing there in the middle of the thorns of yesterdays roses, I heard a sound like no other from any bird that I had ever seen. Glory beyond glory, there he was as big as day, that little one-eyed barred owl that I had taken pictures of last fall, his little tail strumming up and down as he was singing, “I saw the light, I saw the light, no more in darkness,
no more in night. Now I’m so happy, no sorrow in sight, praise the Lord, I saw the light.
With all that, old Mary Alice was shaking with a new sensation that I could never explain to anyone, I was clapping my hands wildly and praising the Lord at the top of my lungs, singing, “Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Praise God, Praise God, Praise God!
I was awakened by a gentle hoof, two white-tailed deer stood above me with eyes as blue as the skies of a July morn. Their long thick lashes curling over and around and down and up until I could almost reach out and curl one over my finger tips.
My next thoughts were immediately put to rest as I heard their singing voice caressing my spirit. “Come sweet lady, your carriage awaits, let us drive you back to the mansion. Your King has requested your presence at the supper table. He says, “Come and dine”!
©Mary Alice Bowles
Oct 31, 07
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