The Seasons Don't Wait
Sure signs that summer is soon upon us are all around. Sun dresses flowing in a flea market breeze, decked-out kindergarteners celebrating their graduations (ours is today), bell-ringing ice cream carts in the playground. The kindergarten graduation confuses me a little--perhaps because I didn't go to kindergarten, myself--but I'm sure our students will look super cute in their fancy clothes and wrist corsages. In a place where kindergarten is the new first grade, I'm not certain what it is exactly that we're acknowledging or celebrating, but I'm betting they'll have coffee.
As with any season, I don't know how this coming summer will change me or what it will teach me. Or, if it's anything like last year, in what ways it will bring me to my knees. But the seasons don't wait for our invitation or assent to come, they deliver themselves to our doorstep and leave it to us to adjust our garb. They stay until they've had their way with us, and just when we've made our peace with them they pass us into the hands of the next one. It is a good reminder that I am not the sun, that this world revolves around something outside of me. It is good for my companionship with the earth, as she holds me and we spin through the warmth and the cold, the light and the dark, together. It is good, I keep telling myself, and surely it is so.