Early spring. Melting snow, river over its banks, potholes. Bird song, sap flowing, the faint reddish haze of millions of tiny buds in the trees, and intrepid daffodil greenery poking up through the sodden soil if you look closely. I've learned to love these teasers of what's just around the corner, to love the turn as much as the destination.
Lots to look forward to. Cleaning out the flower beds, waterproofing the deck, cleaning the bird feeders and putting out fresh seed, cooking outside on the grill, longer days, walks in the neighborhood, outside dining on Main Street at any one of the wonderful cafes and restaurants found there, jazz on the patio at the Gandy Dancer, spring flowers and flowering trees in bloom, spring cleaning, white wine. So much goodness to savor. So much to cherish.
Why is it, do you think, that the older I get the more I notice and appreciate the minute changes as seasons transition? This appreciation has grown over the last couple of years and the tragic events of this past week have only intensified these feelings. As I think on it, everything is always in transition. Nothing really stays the same and each change, whether the gradual changes of seasons or the sudden changes wrought by horrific events, should be reminders to us to live in the moment with preparedness for the next. Maybe that is the answer to my question. Maybe it took almost sixty-two years to learn it.
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