The Dawns Early Light

The cool morning grass brushes against my ankles. Out on the horizon the sun is just beginning to peek out from the night sky. There’s a fall breeze that is so familiar. I quicken my pace and tug on Emma’s leash. She agrees with a bark that we might not make it in time at this rate. My breath syncs in time with our steps.

Panting, we both come to a stop. Out in the woods is our paradise. We sit and watch as dusk slowly falls and the dawn awakens. I close my eyes as Emma lays her head down in my lap. I replay everything that just happened over and over. Slowly a picture is being painted in my head. Brushstrokes glide across the canvas just as a doe would across a stream. My pencil drops, a tired leaf falling from a tree. Everything comes back to the woods, the forest. It is all I can ever think about.

Emma shifts her body up onto my chest, startling me from my sleep. I frantically look up to the sky. The sun is almost fully out by now, it must be almost seven o’clock. I push my self up and reach for Emma’s leash when she decides to bolt. I slip and almost lose my footing. I have to get back to the house before anyone wakes up. I catch up to Emma just as we pass the barn and grab hold of her leash. I run with her to the back to the of the house and slip inside. I give Emma the quiet command and she looks up at me with those big blue eyes I fell in love with the first day I saw her. She follows me up the stairs and I am finally in the clear as I slide into bed.

I know the day has finally begun when I hear Mama thump down from her bed and stomp through the hallway. I hear her feet hit each step as she goes down to the kitchen to make breakfast. By the time she is done making a meal for us five daughters, mama is literally exhausted. It takes a lot out of her to do anything. As I hear her climb back up the stairs, I know it’s time to rise and shine once again.

“Good morning,” I say to Mama as I meet her coming to her bedroom.

“Good morning, Autumn,” she says back to me with a slight smile. My mother named me after the season, Autumn. She always says that when I was born, she knew that someday I would be like the trees out in the woods, beautiful and full of color and life. I know it is hard for her to take care of all of us without Daddy, so I do a lot of the work around home along with my sisters.

I hear them just as I begin to sit down to eat my eggs and bacon. In the morning, my sisters sound like a herd of elephants coming from upstairs.

“Hey, Autumn!” yells Anna, the youngest of us.

“Shhh, Mommy's sleeping,” shushes Grace. Last of all, I hear the click of Emma’s toenails on the wood floor as she wobbles into the kitchen. The smell of the bacon was certainly the thing enticing her to meet us at the table. We all sit down and basically wolf down our food.  When breakfast is cleaned up, that’s when the house starts to bustle. Lily works on the laundry, Anna tags along with Victoria, and Isabel is sweeping and dusting.

This is the perfect time of day to slip away from the mayhem inside the house. I sneak outside and walk towards the road. At this time of year, the trees are just beginning to change color. On the other side of our road, there is a special tree. Actually, me and Anna’s special tree. When she was little, Anna used to always point and gesture towards our tree. When she was finally old enough, I took her out to the tree across the street. We sat under the shade of that tree all day until my mother had to drag us home when it got dark.

The rough gravel scrapes against my bare feet as I run across the road. I make myself a spot in the shade, hidden from my family inside.  I open my coat and pull out a pad of paper and a pencil. I can’t help but to let my eyes wander to the breathtakingly beautiful landscape surrounding me. Once my hand starts to work I cannot stop. It’s like when a bud begins to flower. It starts as something small and begins to transform into something wonderful. Art is a way to put things the way I see them. When I draw I get a feeling like nothing else.

I draw the long winding road that looks like it could go on forever. I draw the majestic trees and the green grass. The barn stands off in the distance with the blue swirling sky overhead. I finish and hide my work folded up into my coat pocket. I swing open the front door and just as I turn to head to my bedroom, there’s mother.
“Where have you been,” she questions.
“I, I, was just outside cleaning the shed,” I stutter out. She gives me the look.
“That’s my Autumn.” she grins and walks away.

As the light starts to inch away, I lay in bed thinking about what tomorrow will bring. Every night I hope that someday my father might come back. I was six when he died. It was late at night and Mama was getting very worried about Daddy. There was a terrible snowstorm and he was late coming home from work. After two miserable days waiting for my father, Mama announced that he wasn’t coming home. He lost control of the car and slid off the road. Ever since Daddy died, Mama has been different. She used to be happy all of the time. She would look at everyone of us and you could see in her eyes how proud she was. It seemed like when my father died a part of Mama went with him. Daddy was my hero. I loved him more than anything and I had always looked up to him. When he died, everything went downhill. Mama was always tired and depressed. Anna and Grace weren’t old enough to know Daddy, so I suppose that is a good thing because they don’t have much to miss. Anna reminds me so much of him that it hurts. Sometimes when I forget what dad was like, I look to Anna. The way she smiles and laughs and cries, everything about her is him.
It is still dark when I wake up. I squirm my legs out from under Emma’s body and pull on my jacket and boots. Emma leaps down and meets me by the door. We tiptoe down the steps and out the back door, a daily ritual. I know this morning it is especially cold because I can see Emma’s warm breath against the brisk air as she trots next to me. We lie down in our usual spot and wait for the sun to peek out. I rest on Emma and think back to when she was a puppy. I begged my mother for years to let me have a dog. One day I was out under my tree when I heard whining and whimpering. I got onto my bike and rode slowly trying to listen for the noise again. I pulled up to a tiny puppy about a mile down the road trying to escape from a fence. Somebody had tied her collar onto the wire and I couldn’t bear to leave her there, suffering. I had to literally rip the collar with my teeth to free her. I hadn’t intended on her coming back to the house with me, but the whole way home I kept looking back to see her running to keep up with my bike. Everyone, especially daddy loved her big blue eyes. My parents couldn’t refuse Emma and they let me keep her. I remember my father saying how her eyes reminded him of the time he went to Maine and saw the most beautiful water. It was as if a crystal clear and deep, intense blue were mixed together in the most perfect shade. Until the day my father passed, Emma, he and I were almost inseparable.

I am so deep in thought that I don’t realize how much time has gone by. Emma and I hustle back to the house. Today instead of going back upstairs to wait for my mother, I decide to cook breakfast. I have always loved to cook. Food is just like art. You create it then get to enjoy what you have made. I am making blueberry pancakes because I know they are Grace’s favorite. The sausage is for Lily, and the eggs for Mama. Finally at eight o’clock everyone stumbles out of bed. Even mom comes down to eat with us. My mother is almost never around. She is either locked away in her room, busy with housework, or just not here. A lot of the time I am not sure where she goes and I don’t ask. Us girls have accepted the fact that mama will never be the same without Daddy.

After my work is done, I head outside with Anna at my heels. We make our way to our tree. I take out my notepad and tear Anna off a piece and hand her a pencil. We sit for awhile in silence, sketching. I am stuck and can’t think of anything to draw. I lean my head back against the tree’s soft bark and watch Anna’s eyes move with her pencil. She has a habit of sticking her tongue out to the side of her mouth whenever she’s focused on something. I study her face. Her features are soft and swift and I can imagine my hand leading the brush across the canvas.

I extend my hand out as I see a butterfly land on a blade of grass. It flutters over to me and its soft wings touch my palm for a split second. The only thing I can think of when I see this butterfly is my father. It sparks a memory in me from when I was only a few years old. My dad took me apple picking one day just because he knew I had always wanted to. As he lifted me up to grab the last apple of the day, a small butterfly landed on the fruit. I was mesmerized by the creature. My father lowered me to the ground careful not to bump the apple.
“What is it, Daddy?” I asked.
“That’s a butterfly. Isn’t it amazing the way its wings make a pattern?” he said.
“He will be my best friend!” I squealed. When the butterfly finally flew away and out of sight I began to cry. My father took me in his arms and told me, “The next time you see your friend I want you to think of me.” Then he smiled and picked me up over his shoulders and we walked all the way back to the car like that.

The butterfly lifts its wings and begins to flutter in a circle. I find it very unusual for it to be flying so awkwardly so I stand up and follow it.
“I’ll be right back, Anna!” I call to my sister. She smiles and waves goodbye as I keep a close eye on the insect. It begins to lead me the way I know so well. I am determined to see what is up with this butterfly. When it leads me all the way to the clearing of trees, our spot,  I get scared. Then suddenly, I hear a crunch of leaves behind me. I immediately flip around to see who or what’s there. Standing there, right before my very eyes is the man I lost from my life nine years ago. My father stands there as casual as ever in his jeans, flannel shirt and work boots. My heart stops and the blood feels like it has stopped flowing. He walks over to me, looks me up and down and wraps me in his arms.

“Well, where have I been while my Autumn has been growing up?” he jokes.

“How, what...” I babble.

“Sit down.” he tells me. My father pulls me onto his lap like he has done a thousand times. He acts like I am still the little girl he used to know.

“I was given three days, darling. God has given me three days to live again with one person. I chose you.” he says.

“What, why me? Wait here, I need to go get mother, and Anna, and Grace and,” he cuts me off.

“No, you cannot. You are the only one who can physically see me. Everyday I will meet you here at sunrise,” he tells me. To my surprise, I turn and sprint. I full out run as fast as my feet can carry me back to the house. I slam the door panting and run to my bedroom. Emma follows me into my room. I slam shut the door and fall onto the bed and sob. I cry until I fear I have used up a lifetime’s worth of water. I finally manage to fall asleep and hope that the morning will never come.

I wake to a bright morning sun shining in through my window. I realize that today was my father’s first day. I throw on my clothes and fly downstairs and out the door. Emma runs ahead anxious that today I am late. I stop at the spot and sit with Emma. For hours we wait. I have to go back because it is almost lunchtime. I walk from the forest but instead of going back to the house I go straight to the tree across the street. I sit back against the trunk and begin to wonder if yesterday was only a thing of my imagination. I work all day up until dark trying to create the best piece of art I will ever make. It will be for my number one fan no matter if he really does receive it in person tomorrow. I have a feeling in my gut that is telling me this is all a mistake and that I can go back to our place tomorrow in the woods and it will be just the same as today.

I stay up all night to work on the painting special for my Daddy. At about 3 o’clock I give in and decide it won’t hurt to catch up on at least an hour of sleep. I am angry at myself to find that today I have yet again slept past the time my father asked me to meet him at. I only stop working on my artwork to eat and to feed Emma. Surprisingly, no one interrupts me and I continue to feverishly work. At around bed time, I hear a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in.” I say. The door cracks open and I see Anna’s small shadow.

“Its me, Anna.” she whispers. Anna climbs onto my bed and runs her finger over the lines of my picture. I can already tell Anna will be an artist like me. For only being six, she understands so much.

“What’s this?” she asks me intently.

“A picture I am working really hard on for someone special,” I tell her. 
She gives me a tight hug and and skips out of my room. I get up to shut my door and rest my art on the nightstand. I pull my covers up to my chin and rest my eyes. I wonder about my father’s reaction to my hard work all for him. I rest my eyes and hope I have made the right decision by not returning to the woods today.

I feel Emma’s rough tongue slide across my cheek. I open my eyes and squint to see outside. It is still dark! I don’t even bother to put on any shoes. I grab the picture and tilt my head sideways as I study it. I am so proud of what I have done that I can’t wait to see my father one last time. I fly down the stairs and out the door, headed for the spot in the forest. When Emma and I reach our spot I stop dead in my tracks. He’s not here.
We wander around for what seems like hours looking for my father. I finally give up and let my legs buckle under me. I fall to the ground and bury my face in my hands. Emma nudges me then lays down on my left side. I sob and scream. I am so confused, devastated, and angry. I pound on the ground with my fists and let out all of my feelings that I have kept bottled up all of these years. When I catch my breath I lift my head and rub the back of my sore neck. It must already be almost nine o’clock and I don’t even care. I pull myself together and stand up only to find my mother standing right behind me. She walks over to me and pulls me in tight. All of the sudden it starts to rain. The sky goes dark and the wind starts to howl. My mother rocks me back and forth. The leaves piled in heaps on the forest floor start to lift into the air. They swirl around us like we are the eye of a hurricane. My mother loosens her grip and I look around, mesmerized as to the magic that seems to be brewing around us. Suddenly the leaves drop back into their piles and the wind and rain halt. Gradually I hear my father’s voice getting closer and closer, it feels like he is right there next to me. He is quiet when he says, “Why have you forgotten about me my Autumn?” “No daddy! I was busy pouring my heart into my painting for you!” I cry.
“I cannot accept your gift, love. My time is up and you have forgotten.” he utters. The ground starts to shake and the leaves continue to whirl faster and faster. Then it all stops and I know he is gone. My mother looks at me confused. I sink down to the ground when the feeling hits me like a truck. “What have I done? I was too selfish to realize that my father had finally come back and I ignored it!” I yell. “I see him every night,” mama finally says. “What do you mean?” I ask looking up to meet her eyes. “He is always here. I know it because I believe it.” she smiles and points to her heart. A teardrop slides down my mother’s rosy cheek.
I prod Emma and she jerks to her feet. My mother takes my hand and leads me the same way she used to back to the house. That night I feel my father watching over me. I see him in my dreams where he feels so real that when I wake up I have to remind myself that he is gone. The next morning I force myself out of bed and down to the forest. I take the painting with me and sit down on a stump. I pull out a piece of paper and a pencil. I start to sketch faster and better than I ever have before. When I am finally satisfied, I lay my pencil down in the grass. I tuck the paper into a slot in the stump where my father and I used to sit and watch the sun come up together every morning.

Everyday I draw like there’s no tomorrow. Because it’s true, there may not be a tomorrow. I hope that one day someone will find my drawings long after I am gone and get to admire them the way I would have wanted my father to.