When I was a child, I enjoyed the ‘obliviousity’ of most children and my world centered entirely around myself. So much of the world was background noise; what was important was me, my now, my future, my hopes and dreams. But little by little, the world encroached and made my reality the real reality. Even then, though, my world was small and local and the passage of time seemed slow.
And then, and then, I became an adult somewhere along the way, with loves and responsibilities and all that such life demands: spouse, children, parents.
Eventually I became an amateur gardener, planting, harvesting, losing plants at times, learning, aware of the seasons but only as they affected my hobby.
Now, a sort of visceral awareness has been given to me, so that as the seasons arrive, and as they change, I can feel those changes and it is wonderful to me. For instance, in early spring the days grow longer, just a little at a time, until we are at mid-summer; now we are past that, and now, just a little at a time, the days are growing short again. I can sense that particularly in the late afternoon and early evening. I can feel it. And at my stage of maturity I sometimes wonder, how many more changes of season are there for me. But when I have those thoughts, I shake them off as one would a dried leaf that fell, or a flower petal or an errant snowflake, depending on the season. Because it should and must be enough to relish these changes of daylight and dark and to realize that long after my existence they will continue.