My backyard aspen leaves transform from vibrant green to sunshine yellow, a warm smile welcoming the first notes of autumn. Beautiful though they are, their presence throws me for a loop, like a guest who shows up too early for the party. In my Colorado town, an extended winter bullied spring for months, and summer didn’t jive full swing until July. So, my heart holds tightly onto summer even though the calendar and crisp air say fall.
Every unpredictable Colorado season feels like a curve ball to this original Oklahoma girl. And in any make or model, I’m no fan of curve balls. (Which is probably why God had me fall in love with a military man. Because the military life? Curve. Balls.) I’m a thirty-nine year old kid who finds comfort in routines, rest in predictability. But eventually, a curve ball will slide into each and every person’s landscape view, and sometimes life doesn’t just throw them. It hurls jagged-edged rocks at us, rocks that hurt and bruise worse than any unexpected weather patterns.