Watching the flowers bloom.
It never even crossed my mind,
that by the time
their colors would come in,
it would be too late for us.
I’m okay with watching things die.
Emotions always take
a back seat to utility,
but watching things grow;
man, that’s where it gets tough.
Pain and death
are natural,
and inevitable.
Just as the waning moon
and the cold ocean,
but that full moon
over a pristine beach,
the smell of flowers
and the sounds of laughter;
that kills me every time.
They’re really coming in this year.
The front yard
is gonna look
like an English manor garden
and I’m not sure
that I’ll be able to stand
looking at it
day after day.
I know that September
is only a few months away.
It is only just summer
and in this high country,
summer is fleeting.
There will be no escape
from the fecundity
of this season,
but it will end
all on its own.
It’s hard to watch things grow,
because for every growing season,
there is a season of death and loss
and every spring
it gets a little harder
to clean up the garden,
plant the flowers,
and wait
for them to die,
before putting it all away
for winter.
Yes, there is joy in the interim.
There is beauty,
and love,
and life;
there’s no denying that.
But, as time passes on,
we too recede in our season,
until one day
only the garden
will bloom.
HG – 2022
