Excerpt from "Chasing the Son" by Robin Euleta Hilsinger-Christensen

Barbara collapsed on the burgundy chaise, shadowed under lattice, weaved with lavender snail vine . As each quash of golden mulberry pealed away from her flip-flops, a dusty scent of marigold, neon yellow, orange, and cranberry, wafted through her, and drew her apprehensions toward the China Berry. From its October rainbow wreath, finger twists of hazelnut trunks, reached under the umbrella of beige and crimson platelets, that rattled like streams of water falling against pebbles. When had it time to grow? she wondered. And just like her child, when had he time to grow? but unlike her child, this sapling just moments ago, could not topple away into danger. Unless, of course, she chopped it down. Had she chopped him down?

Meandering flagstone paths burrowed under cinnamon patches of bear grass, called Barbara’s mind... no her heart, to crouch under the thick sienna canopy of Japanese maple, where her favorite bench, stone and beveled, lay in wait. How did this sanctuary even exist? Why wasn’t it dead like so many others? Had they planned it this way? Or was it just Michael’s green thumb? She couldn’t remember, but sitting there numb, she wondered how it was that God could gift her with such magical color, of sweet scent, of perfect solace?
Fixed and surrounded by one exquisite creation after another, her attention pressed against the letter tucked away in her pocket: “I designed it for you, Mom, because I knew that someday you would need a place to pray.”