Color Me Butterfly

Autumn is my favorite time of year – from earth rainbows of fruit to brown crockery mugs of hot cider, from the swirls of state fairs to theater thrivings, from frequent frosty nips in the air to upcoming holiday innuendos.  But this year, as hours turn into day and day into night, I'm not feeling as balanced - it's the first anniversary of my Mother's transition into the afterlife.
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This time of year is usually my time for regeneration, redefinition, and reeducation.  I journal, meditate, and light candles.  I read and catch up on current trends via the new and plentiful line up of talk shows and mega magazines.  I have guru tinged talks with girlfriends about the cycling circle of life.  But this time, instead of all the latter, I've been repeatedly asking Spirit why Mom transitioned during my fabulous fall.  From this mantra, an answer is finally being peacefully received - now, I will even moreso rejoice in the cornucopia of light this Powerparent has raised in my soul.
 
Sallie Harris Hubert was and still is an ever present force of nature and family.  Elements of her breathe life into my life everyday.  Slowly, I am beginning to accept the season has changed - a cell level acceptance that could only come at this ingathering time of year.  My great-grandmother used to say that folk lying in cemeteries are too proud to speak.  With pride, Mother is now enjoying her ascended autumn, radiant in well-earned heavenly glow because of the world harvest she stored – four independent and strong children, four extraordinary grandchildren who she saw all become honor students, and love - lots and lots of love on every level her heart could reach.
 
So as Mother sits in her honored place around the white-gold fire of my Ancestors, I cannot help but feel warmed.  As her and my grandmothers exchange recipes of wisdom, I cannot help but feel nourished.  As Mother is wrapped in the regal cloak of infinity, I cannot help but be encouraged.  I am thankful for the seasons we've shared, and the seasons that are still yet to come.  And, as Mother sings and dances with the Celestials, I cannot help but look up and smile.
 
Rediik Harris-Hubert
Hastings, Florida