Black Diamonds

Before it was known as "The Saturday Before" it was just a Saturday, known as nothing but a compilation of sunny hours to start off the weekend.

I had promised to go swimming at a friends house a few hours before the usual call of "Come outside I want to show you something," kept me home a few hours more. Following as one always did unless feeling daring or disrespectful, I found my way behind the large green trees purposely planted to shield our houses from the wind's harsh dusting of farmland residue.

On the other side of these trees were scattered blackberry bushes still rooted in the same sandy soil they were planted in twenty-something years ago. The blackberries -- a by-product of one man's appreciation for nature -- were now a pathway for others to gain a similar admiration, and also a pathway to him. How weird it was, I thought, to be picking blackberries from the same plants my great uncle had planted long before I was born. A bittersweet taste swished in my mouth and a bittersweet feeling crept through my body as I wondered all the ways those in heaven are still with us on Earth.

My dad walked further down the dirt path, called out to me during this reflection, and motioned me towards the patches of corn his farmer friend had recently planted in the distance.

And soon that Saturday before became the Sunday of. The day I would remember the blackberry bushes and look around in the distance to once again wonder the connection between that of Earth and of heaven. The peaceful feeling I would once again receive knowing that things so deeply rooted would always remain.