Left behind

Several years ago, I got into scrapbooking. My first book is about me, about growing up on the farm in Burlington, school days, college, marriage... But, it's those first years of memory that have a golden glow about them. Is it the the constant sun of the place, the wheat, or just the beginning of life that was so golden?

When Mama was closing the house and buildings after the auction, Dwight and I happened to be there for our summer vacation. It felt strange at the lawyer's office as the daughters stood in support of Mama as she was instructed through the pile of legal papers. The lawyer and realtor seemed callous, all paper and no heart. We watched somberly as she put the final pen to paper. When we opened the door to leave the office, Burlington had never looked so bereft.

We rode out to the farm in a somber mood and took our goodbyes. Near sunset, the yard was quiet except for the wind in the trees. Weeds had grown up in the corral and around the carport. Inside the house, we walked one last circle through the rooms, only the fading sun sifting through the windows to give us light.

It was in the middle of the living room where I saw a small, dark form against the carpet. What is here, I wondered, reaching down and lifting it. Soft feathers on a lifeless bird, a sparrow caught inside somehow in the bustle of the auction. I set its holiness back down.