7/17/2006
For all seasons
Based on life-expectancy statistics and my own family history, I figure I passed the halfway mark in my journey about 15 years ago. That means that I can now see the tunnel, but not yet the light at the end of it.
On Saturday, we had gone to a ball game with friends. Saying goodbye late that night on the street outside their house, we remarked on the beauty of the night, how warm and perfectly still it was, not a leaf stirring in the sycamore canopy above us. "I just love summer," our friend said.
How fast time tumbles by, now that we've seen so much of it. Seems just a few minutes ago we were putting out the porch furniture, and in no time we'll be putting it away for winter. How many starlit nights like this are left to see? Better appreciate this one; grab this moment and store it away, take it out again and admire it when the wind whips snow dust under the garage door.
I love summer, too, but also the other seasons. Even on these hot nights I think of wading through a river of oak leaves, feeling the bite of the autumn wind from the northwest numbing my knuckles. I recall the squeak of snow under boots in the driveway, a ring around the moon visible through the bare maple branches. I smell the new buds on trees on a March morning.
I'm saving all these moments, saving them to keep me company in the darkness of the tunnel.
