So here we are. In a convergence of
the stories I've been telling. In a moment – a season – of
beauty.
Meg is graduating from high school
today. Spring has settled into early summer, and the solstice is two
weeks away. The only strand of story that does not meet here is the
story of our changing climate. The day the atmosphere measured 400
ppm came and went, pretty quietly.
The irony of writing about the coming
season is that really it's about living in and observing the moments
along the journey. Graduation is not an endpoint; the seasons will
continue to cycle; the earth will warm... until we make a choice to
change. So even though today is a marker, there is the comfort of
accepting it for simply what it is – a day of beauty – and not
looking ahead to what is coming.
And still, I am a bundle of conflicting
emotions. Behind the busy-ness of today's schedule, there is
sadness, pride, a need to pinch myself in reminder that this is real
and I want to be awake for it, joy at the miracle of my daughter,
maternal brood-gathering as I hold my other children close, wonder at
the truth that Bob and I have raised a child to this moment of her
own fullness, and a little exhaustion.
Spring is a fecund time, and the energy
of the burgeoning earth is mirrored in the fullness of our calendar
hanging on the kitchen wall. Summer will bring its rest. The nest
building and pollinating and school year will be done. The fruits
will begin to swell, the birds will quiet as they raise their young
and begin to feed up for fall migration, our children will go to the
wilderness and reconnect with their deep selves. Bob and I will be
alone here.
And that sounds just about right. For
now. For today.