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.