Dust.
Or was it dirt?
I couldn’t tell.
Brushing a finger across the wooden surface I inspected the granules for myself.
No, it was probably dust.
Though dirt wouldn’t have surprised me. Ever since arriving in this inspiring landscape I had noticed the expanses of broad land–flat dirt spreads with a scattering of scrubby green bushes. Or perhaps they called some of the dirt–sand? I didn’t know. Many might have thought me a little put out over dirt because of the meaning of my name–Sarah. As much as I liked the idea of being a princess, I didn’t mind “living normal” too. Dirt, dust, sand …what did it really matter? I wanted to paint and that mattered more.
Not that I didn’t like being clean and neat. I aspired to that level of tidiness every day, but a little wagon dust? Not a big deal.
Jumping down I nodded at my older brother. I knew as much as he appreciated the landscape for my sake, the railroad work absorbed the greater part of his interest. We’d only arrived a week ago–a family searching for better work. More stable income. We were lonely and I often struggled with these sudden unknowns.
It felt like we’d just jumped into sweet water. Water that tasted good but left a clear sense of nothing very substantial. That is, at least to the taste buds. Where would we end up? Would it all work out?
But the mountains.
That’s what I wanted to see. A crisp frame to this unusual–but pretty, landscape. I had known I’d be greeted by a broad blue sky when arriving in New Mexico–with crystaline diamonds sparkling at night across the deep expanse over my head. But I hadn’t quite expected this.
Mountains. Not the soft rolling hills of Virginia.
“Sun should be setting here in about half an hour.” My brother leaned one arm over the back of the wagon seat and nodded towards the horizon.
I smiled and hugged my sketchbook closer with one hand, using the other to point. “I want to go to that overlook–is that okay?”
“Sure.” He smiled back. “Just call if you need anything. I’ll be here.”
I thanked him and swung a leather bag over my shoulder filled with paints, brushes and a water jar. Excitement grew inside of me. A whole hour to paint the sunset.
“Sarah!”
I heard my name being called and turned.
It was my brother. He waved and then cupped a hand around his mouth.
“It’ll be a watermelon sky tonight.”
Glancing towards the setting sun I squinted and then turned back. Giving a quick wave and smile in response, I hurried to close the distance between me and the overlook.
When I reached it, I stopped. Watermelon? Did it look like it? Squinting again, I stared at the faded blue mountain, the clear, reflecting water and the dusty, shadowed brush. My brother wasn’t an artist …but he could notice things that I missed.
I studied the sky. Colors melded into a glowing aurora of pinks, yellows, greens and blues.
Then I saw it.
The mountains were like a jagged rind. The sky was the rosy melon.
How pretty.
I sat down and unburdened myself from the leather satchel and sketchbook. My eyes were still fixed on the changing moods before me. Soft pinks radiated above the dusy blues and browns and it glowed with a heartfelt …well, sort of sadness …to me. There was joy and hope certainly mixed in the view. But also a slight downturn in coming night.
The seeds. Where were they?
I smiled as I considered this. I knew it was a silly question–there were no representation of the seeds in the “watermelon” sky.
Seeds.
I mulled the word over as I opened my sketchbook and picked up a paintbrush.
A watermelon wasn’t just a juicy, sweet tasting, lightly structured form of mostly water. If it was …how could more watermelons grow? Seeds meant that there could be more beautiful fruits in the future.
Seeds …true, I felt as though this unknown season in a western land was like drinking sweet water. But I hadn’t thought about seeds. Where there seeds …even in a time like this?
Seeds that were promises of more to come?
Swirling blue paint into red, I achieved a lovely purple and began to outline a mountain on the paper.
Well, this could be one seed. Moving here I now had more time to paint. More time to continue developing the artistic skills God had given me.
And my brother. I hadn’t gotten as much time with him back east. He was so busy in his apprentice work and attending higher level education that I hardly saw him. Now we had several hours each day in the other’s company. Another seed.
As color blended into color, both beyond me and before me, I continued to count …the seeds.
The seeds in our family’s watermelon sky.
I counted on and on. Giving thanks to the Lord as I thought of each one. How many there were! And how much fruit might come from each one.
“Sarah? Sarah!” My brother’s voice echoed over the distance. “It’s time to head back!”
I swiftly packed my paints and brushes, sealing the water jar I’d brought and placing it into the satchel with the other supplies. I left the new piece of artwork open to the air so that it could continue drying.
When I reached the wagon, my brother helped me up.
“Can I see?” He asked, nodding to the sketchbook.
I handed it to him.
“That’s beautiful, Sarah. I like it.” He looked up at me as though understanding that more was imprinted on that paper than just a pretty sky and mountains. “Watermelon sky, isn’t it?”
I smiled and wondered …had he seen it too?
“I think I might have to add some little seeds in the sky.” I whispered, looking down as I received the sketchbook back. “Even though …” My words drifted. I hoped he understood.
My brother clicked to the horses and answered quietly. “I think so too.”
Praise ye the LORD. O give thanks unto the LORD; for He is good: for His mercy endureth for ever.” Psalm 106:1
