We’re at the walking track one morning and I see a young man I went to high school with on the exercise equipment. It’s not, of course, but it takes a couple of laps before I realize that it can’t possibly be him. The mind plays tricks when it comes to age.
It does the same with seasons.
A titch of spring fever took hold when we returned from vacation. I started thinking about what I would do in the garden this year, summer trips, and the weather—well, the sunshine and warm weather certainly felt like the start of spring.
Then, overnight it changed. And snow and below freezing temperature and that sweet little hyacinth in the front yard is tucked away under a blanket of snow and, man, I get fooled every year.
But the fever prompted me to order seeds, photograph tulips, and gave me a taste of what’s coming. Enough to carry me through this short month that always feels so long.
And there’s that scraping sound of my neighbour’s shovel on the driveway again.
I glanced out the front window as I waited for the Keurig to cough out a cup of elixir earlier and saw a distinctive glow in the valley below that could only mean more snow fell overnight. The scrape confirms it.
All in good time, all time is good.
I sometimes try to fool myself into believing I have control over things like aging and seasons then wisdom reminds me of my folly. Just be present, it tells me. Wrap your sixty-one-year-old arms around the here and now. Hold lightly the gift of the moment and just say thank you.