A Shadow Comes Calling

I woke up with an aching head, stinging neck, and stiff back and legs. I had to push Hank off me to get up.

The early morning sun sneaked around the blinds, too bright and cheery.

I rolled out of bed and started my morning routine. A nice latte would do me just fine. My kids had given me an extra expensive cappaccino machine for my birthday. It made great lattes.

I walked into the living room, looking up reflexively. Nothing up there but air. I picked up my phone from the counter and texted my sister.

"I dreamed that devil man dream again last night. Remember the one I had way back when I woke up and thought I saw a ghost? Gave me the willies. How did your night go?" I pressed "send".

I fixed myself a latte and walked out front to enjoy the morning. I had a busy morning ahead of me if I wanted to finish my latest landscape plan.

I started my own landscape business three years ago, about a year after Steve died. He was killed by a drunk driver while he was on his way home from work. It happened so quickly. One minute I was thinking about what to cook for supper, and if I needed Steve to pick up anything from the store, and the next minute, I'm not too sure. It will remain a blur by choice. All I know is that I was alone, for the first time in my life.

Losing someone in that fashion, it is so quick. Death comes up and smacks you in the face and you realize how little time you have to enjoy and experience life. So, I figured why not start a business? The kids were set for college, and the house was paid off. What did I have to lose, money?

I asked God to take care of it, and he did. I am still here, not quite the successful landscaper, but able to keep myself busy. I thank God everyday for giving me something creative to do.

If you were to drive up to my house, you would be hard-pressed to tell a landscaper lives here. We're kind of like mechanics - fix everyone else's yard first, then maybe get around to fixing ours someday. I like to tell myself I went to all native, "water-wise" plantings. That's just my way of saying weeds are good. I hung up a few windchimes, and their tinkling lends an ethereal quality to the yard.

The Black-Eyed Susans, Bluebonnets, and other wildflowers were blooming. Yellows, blues, reds, and oranges splashed across the yard. Just way too pretty to mow.

I was standing there on the porch waxing poetic about the beauty of God's creation when a movement on my right caught my eye. I looked that way, through the small stand of Yaupon, but didn't see anything unusual. The birds stopped chirping, and even the wind stilled. Something was there, watching me.

Hank was over by the wellhouse. He looked that way. His hair stood on end, and he growled at whatever it was behind the trees. I felt rooted to where I stood, almost held forcibly in place. I squinted through the gnarled branches, but couldn't see anything.

Hank finally huffed, shook his head, and trotted over to investigate. The noise came back, and the wind picked up. I headed inside suddenly needing a fresh cup of coffee.