Lilacs and Other Things Ephemeral
It’s lilac season. One of the few times of the year defined by a smell. My neighborhood is full of them. I sit on my balcony and breathe it in. I’m filled simultaneously with the unfiltered joy of nature’s very best perfume and a terrible sense of dread.
Lilacs only last for about two weeks, so I barely start to enjoy it and it already feels like it’s coming to an end. Of course, it is a lesson in being present and enjoying the moment. But really it sucks because it’s just too damn short. It’s the first ending of the summer. Next come Memorial Day weekends, graduations, the Fourth of July, blooming roses.
Then the corn guy comes and parks his white van of goodness up by the interstate and that’s what I eat for nearly every meal every day until he just stops showing up. That, my friends, is a truly dreadful day.
I’m enjoying the lilacs as I beg them not to go. Sounds familiar… enjoying the life I’ve been gifted while begging God not to make me go. Knowing deep down that I don’t get to decide when my season ends any more than the lilacs do.
But I guess I can at least choose where (or whether) to sit to breathe it all in.
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