Naked

Just a week ago, Sugar and I were still admiring the petunias planted by the complex office. Their delicate colors and nodding heads did not seem out of place next to the bale of straw or the scarecrow announcing autumn's arrival. Only a week ago the trees were cavorting in dress of red and yellow and orange. Even green.

Overnight, that has all gone away. I am shocked to find barren dirt where once the flowers clustered; naked branches where once the squirrels hide while scolding Sugar for sniffing them out. How did it all change so suddenly? Especially this week when it has been mild and pleasant on the days it wasn't raining.

I know winter is on its way. Some places have already had their first snowfall (some of them measurable in more than inches!). Someone told me they saw white flakes briefly on a windy afternoon (I am not sure I believe them). Today, the plants trumpet their warning. Pull up your sidewalks. Take down your awnings. Stock your woodpile. Winter is coming and soon. They have done just that, pulling deep within themselves to hibernate through the cold hard days, coddling the next generation, knowing they will outlast the cruel cold and ice.

I do not take it lightly. I tug on Sugar's leash and scurry back indoors where my heat is on. As I hang up my jacket, I catch sight of my amaryllis. A lone green shoot is beginning to push through the soil, product of the fat bulb consuming the pot. Even in winter, there is hope. Even in the most bereft and naked season, life cannot help itself from peeking out.