Away

.

While I was away, the milkweed seeds burst out of their pods, floating on the wind to form a new generation.

The coral honeysuckle bloomed out of season, in defiance of the cold.





And while I was away, an oak tree fell. It had been in decline for years and a crossvine had woven its way to the top. In spring, the vine was a orange mass of trumpet blossoms, and in all other seasons, it was a shiny green cape that draped dramatically to the ground.

A high wind blew the oak against a neighboring tree. When I returned home, there was only a mottled brown stump.

Once when I was away, my father died, his face gray on the pillow, his hands clutching at the sheets.

He was not an oak, but a sassafras, his strength in his resourcefulness. His wiry temperament was flexible in form, but not in adaptability, owing to a long taproot. With leaves of unpredictable shape, and flaming red foliage in fall, he was often the center of attention, particularly in his later years. At his feet, his progeny radiated in all directions forming a colony that spread throughout the Midwest.

While I was away, the impatiens froze, but their seeds were already safely planted in the fertile soil below.