Suddenly summer, muggy and hot after days, maybe weeks? of feeling like I lived in Seattle. My son, who did in fact live there for several years, asked if this drizzly cool spring was normal, searching the fog of his childhood memories.
Normal?
No, it doesn’t seem that it is; but what meaning does that word even have right now? In a timeless drift of vaguely identified days, the world tumbles on in its own oblivious path.
Could I really even fairly say? How much attention did I pay when early spring weeks were filled with classes and schedules and corralling teenagers counting down to summer vacation?
The trees grow thick and lush. Flowers bloom and robins splash in cool streams. The tiny bunny creeps out of his nest to explore the path.
Those teenagers now struggle to finish their last assignments from bedrooms and living rooms and kitchen tables while I coach and coax and try to instruct while suspecting I’m little more than an annoying notification ding.
I putter in endless loops around my neighborhood park, surprised every day by the joyous explosion of life.
Rambling ... 