Death

I should be studying. Instead, I walk, wondering over a love that would leave seven children fatherless and thrust a 17-year-old boy into the role of father and comforter to his family.

A raging sun sets, furiously, passionately. Beautiful, but angry. Chafing laughter grates from the football game. Hot tears.

Doves and mockingbirds. A swift, closer than usual. Crickets and cicadas, steadfast and constant.

I stroke a red leaf. Autumn is coming. Some have said that we don’t have fall here, but we do. Miniscule creatures scurry at my feet. The sky is now a deep, deep blue, the West swirled with purples and oranges. Killdeer trot on the now vacant fields, whistling as they play. All of creation testifying, responding to an omnipotent Creator.

I don’t understand, but I trust.