When It's Time

    Hello everyone! I'm sorry for not posting my mid-week

story. I've had a rough couple of weeks. My work days have

been long and my computer is still dead. They say it will

cost $400.00 plus to fix it.

    We can't afford that, so Ginny and I will be sharing her
   
computer for a bit.

    I plan to do something different in the next few days.
   
You regulars know, I post a story once or twice a week.

Over the next few days I want to post a story a day.

    October 10th is the anniversary of my first wife's passing.
   
Part of what I will write will be things you have read before.

The rest will be a combination of other things I have written.

It is my tribute to Georgia, for the years we were together.

    Losing Georgia was tough. It changed me and the way I

I look at life. It made me realize the value of love and friendship.

Both can be taken away in the blink of an eye or slowly

pulled from your arms.

   If you don't want to receive this many stories from me, please

just delete them. This is something I have to do.

    Enjoy today's story. I struggled with this one for more than
   
a week. I handed it over to Ginny. She told me I was stretching it.

I was trying to put a message into something that already had one.

    The moment she said it, I knew she was right.
   
    Mike

                      When It's Time
                                                                                                      When It's Time
    Leaves bounced over the grass, propelled by the wind. I knelt

in front of freshly tilled soil. A leaf slapped against my leg,

stuck for a moment, and fled with the next gust. Others followed - a

colorful march across the yard.

    I created a hole in the soil with my trowel and reached into
   
the bag of bulbs at my side. I removed one, placed it in the hole,

tenderly covered it, and shuffled to the side. Grass stained my jeans

as I moved down the line - dig, plant, cover.

    The bag was empty. The bulbs were planted. I showered the sweat

and dirt from my body, and sat on my deck. The weakening sun warmed

me, but the cool breeze and tumbling leaves reminded me winter

would soon follow.

    The bulbs weren't sleeping. Their roots grew downward, drawing
   
nutrients from the soil. The cool earth triggered cells to produce

small leaves and flower buds under the ground, where they would

wait for the warmth of spring.

                *************************

    From my window, I watched the first snow of the year cover my
   
flower bed. The soil, still warm from the waning sun, melted the first

flakes, but was soon overcome. The snow built up.

    A month later, the ground was solid - frozen. Winds whipped powdery
   
snow into piles. Barren trees creaked and clattered with each gust. I

threw a log on the fire, made a pot of tea, and waited.

                *************************

    The days grew longer, the air warmer. Snow melted and formed

puddles on the still frozen ground. At night, the surface of the

puddles froze, but the water beneath soaked into the soil, feeding

the bulbs. In the morning, there would be clear layers of ice

where the puddles were. It shattered like glass beneath my boots.

    Spring came; the air warmed. I walked in the yard. Under my weight,

water squeezed from the soil and filled the tracks I left behind. On

the southern side of the house, close to the basement walls, grass

became green. In my flowerbed, shoots of green pushed through the

surface. In a few weeks, they grew taller, reaching for the sun. Buds

formed at their tips and burst into color. I smiled - new life.

    A few weeks later, the flower pedals fell free and were carried
   
off by the wind. The leaves continued to grow tall and strong, making

food for new bulbs.

    The weather cooled. The leaves dried, browned, and withered
   
away. Snow fell again. The new bulbs lie hidden under the soil.

They would have their moment of glory.

    Nature took care of the bulbs. If they grew and bloomed too
   
early, they'd die. They wouldn't be prepared for their environment.

The cold would kill them.

    Once again, I threw a log on the fire. I trusted nature. The
   
flowers would bloom again - when it's time.

   Michael T. Smith

    I love you comments. I like to include a few with each post.
   
I received some wonderful ones in the last few weeks, but because of

my computer troubles, I lost them all. Please forgive me.

Mail your comments to mtsmith@qwestonline.com

Love you and value you
Mike

Michael T. Smith
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Keep on waving