Grandmother left early in the season of green to the land where no one living may follow, and so we had to disturb the green to make a place where the shell that had carried her soul could rest.

The Great Sadness settled over Grandfather for many days, and then weeks, until we feared he would chase after her soul after all. One day, he rose and declared he had overcome The Great Sadness in a wrestling match by the fire the night before, and the Sadness had pledged to protect Grandmother’s soul until the end of time or when Grandfather followed, whichever came first. He said this with a wink as if he was fairly certain which was more likely.

That was the last we heard of Grandfather for a very long time, long enough for the time of green to pass into the time of red and orange and weeks after that. 

Toward the end of the time of brown, Grandfather came to us and said he had a task for several young ones, if we were willing to take a journey for him and for the memory of Grandmother. I was among those who accepted this honor.

Here is where I begin to lose my bearings, because now I am older than Grandfather was when he sent us on the quest, and the details do not return to my thoughts as clearly as they did when it was not as long ago. I cannot recall the preparations for the journey or if we were fully aware of the many dangers we might encounter. 

I do remember that the day we departed, the time of white was almost upon us and the aroma of burning leaves was in the air as we said our fare-thee-wells to friends and family and began our journey south. Whatever unease we may have felt was balanced by gratitude that we would spend those months in a place where it was always a time of green.

o o o o o

My great-granddaughter turned the page and found a blank page. She leafed through the journal and found only more blankness, a different kind of season of white.

“Great-Grampa, what is this?” she said. “Didn’t you write the rest of the story?”

“Not yet,” I said, tapping my temple, “but it’s all up here.”

She climbed on my lap and looked in my ear. “I don’t see anything! What happened next?”

“Oh, a great many things,” I said. “I will write them all down someday.”

She tilted her head.

“Didn’t you once tell me that someday never comes?”

I winced.

“Well, dear, sometimes someday does come,” I ventured. “This may be one of those sometimes.”

“I want to know where your grampa sent you,” she cried.

“We ended up going lots of places,” I said.

“Tell me!”

“Someday.”

“Why not now?”

I sighed. “I’m very tired today, honey. Next time, maybe.”

“You have to promise! Next time we come over, you have to have more of the story written.”

“OK,” I said after a moment. “I’ll write the first chapter, at least.”

“Promise?”

She looked so anxious I laughed in spite of myself.

“I promise.”

“You better!”

“I just promised, didn’t I?”

And I did have the first chapter for her to read the next time. Her smile was so wide, I could not break that promise if I wanted to.