Similarly, I eagerly anticipate the next paycheck, the last class in the semester, the arrival of a package, the publication of an essay.
This spring, however, there has been an onset of retrograde anticipation, an anticipation that regrets what will come.
When the first glacier lily blossomed this spring it meant that for me, for the course of my life, the number of springs with their first glacier lilies was reduced by one.
The arrival this morning of a Saturday open for whatever pleasures and responsibilities I choose has now been reduced by one.
How many more such Saturday mornings will there be?
How many more grandsons' soccer games will I witness?
How many more changes of seasons?
How many more books will I read?
This last question, unlike the one about glacier lilies, has an answer somewhat less finite. While I can't expand the number of coming springs in my life, I can read more books, or fewer books, depending on my choices.
How many more books will I write? Right now, this morning, on the eve of the coming summer, I can feel the answer expanding rather than contracting. Age and experience and opportunity multiply this opportunity rather than subtracting from it.
And now to the wildflowers:
|another astragalus, color variation|
|storksbill / Erodium cicutarium|
|bitterbrush / Purshia tridentata|
|death camas / Zigadenus venenosus (Lily family)|
|third yellow composite about to bloom|