Garden drama 4

Felix Culpa

    Eve liked to sweep the front porch in the evening. Any time of year she might find a stray leaf, mud streaks from her boots after a rainy day, a dirt clod from the grandkids playing; but each season the wind brought a different set of visitors. A new pallet of paint for the same canvas. 
   In the spring, pollen from the maples in the front yard came off in waves. Most days it was hardly noticeable. Other days, by lunchtime, the wind had swirled enough yellow over the blue-gray concrete porch that the postman left footprints walking up to the front door. Summertime might bring red dust from the clay fields just outside of town, if there was drought. June always brought a helping of cottonwood seeds, from the vacant lot across the street - white fluffs drifting gently, landing lightly to say, "hello, Eve." 
   She loved the spinning seeds the maples shook off in summer and early fall; she called them whirligigs, but her grandkids called them helicopters. Full blown autumn and early winter, of course, brought the majority of her porch visitors. Leaves leaves leaves. Red maple, with a few yellow elm leaves in the mix. Mid-winter was more leaves, and hopefully some snow! Snow was her favorite, and she could usually count on getting one or two flurries between January and March. The big snows were hard to come by this far south.
   The passing of the seasons always reminded her of what she had lost. And make no bones about it, she still felt it. The loss. Every single day. Nothing compared to the joy of the Garden, the wholeness, the presence of God. What about the love she felt for her children and grandchildren, and for Adam, God rest his soul? Yes, maybe that compared. That was the substance, the essence of the Garden. But in the Garden everything gave and received that strength and love, that mother's love. Every tree, every beetle climbing up the tree, every breeze blowing through the tree. Comparing the love in her life now to the love in the Garden was like comparing a nice bath in her iron tub with swimming in the ocean.
   Yet she adored the passing of the seasons. A new day brought a new gift. Would she give up the joys she'd experienced this side of the cherubim, if she could walk back through that fiery wall into her first life? She didn't have to make that choice. She liked to tell Enoch, "When you get old, you can have regrets without regret." And then she'd nudge him, "I hope you get as old as me one day." Which was an inside joke; Eve always said Enoch acted like an old man, even as a little kid. Enoch would nudge her right back, "Whatever you say, Grandma, I'll live forever if you want me to."
   This evening was a tiny bit chilly for April, so she put on Adam's old jean jacket. She kept the straw "porch" broom (as opposed to the identical broom she kept hanging in the pantry) with the other yard tools in the lean-to plastic shed just to the right of the back step. She had a little sweeping ritual, you might say. Broom in hand she walked down her gravel drive to the sidewalk, turned right and swish-swish-side-to-side in big strokes she quickly dusted off the fifteen yards of sidewalk in front of her house. She gracefully turned back to her brick walk and did the same double sweep up to her front porch steps. "It's me," she said, "who's here?" 
   She surveyed the porch. On the right, a white painted swing. Underneath it were a couple of twigs. On the left, two white painted rocking chairs. A few ants exploring here and there. A little pollen. A little dust. Not much to sweep really. A typical spring evening. For whatever reason, she preferred to sweep right to left, so she always started by chrysanthemums she grew in two old wooden tool boxes on the southern side, driveway side, of the porch. "Alright folks, thanks for visiting, but it's time to go home." Sweep sweep. She swept everything off to left side, into the hydrangeas she kept all along the north side of her porch and house, between her house and the neighbors' drive.
   When she was done, if it wasn't too cold, and it wasn't this evening, she'd prop her broom against a rocking chair and sit on the porch swing to say her prayers. Quietly she swung as she breathed in, breathed out, naming her family members - what a big family she had! - friends, neighbors, church folk, sad stories in the news, wars in foreign countries, anybody or anything that came to mind. She was done when she was done.
   She picked up her broom in the dusk and walked down the three porch steps, turning left to cut across the yard, under the bigger of the two maples. As she stepped over a root it seemed to move, shimmer, slither. "Ah!" She stepped back quickly, banged her heel against the offending root, stumbled and fell. By the time she lost her balance she was halfway to the ground anyway, so mostly she just rolled backward like a banana and ended up on her side. She took a few breaths and waited for the pain to start. Everything seemed to be okay. "I'll probably feel it in the morning." She laughed and sat up.
   The necklace she kept tucked under her blouse had slipped out when she fell. It was just a thin silver chain with a silver ring on it. Adam's wedding ring. She felt it, felt the grooves inside of it. The letters were worn down, and the script was too small to read in this light anyway, but she knew what it said. "Bone of my bones." She had one just like it on her ring finger that read, "Flesh of my flesh." She kissed Adam's ring and tucked it back in. She kissed her own ring and then reached the broom, using it to help her stand up. She patted the tree and laughed. "Shame on you, scaring an old lady." She walked back to the shed to put up the broom, smiling at herself, smiling at the tree, smiling at her fear, at the memories, at the past, at the present, at the future.