“While we speak, envious time will have already fled: … ” Horace
When my wife and I moved into Hood River last April, a canopy of white blossoms greeted us from a flowering cherry in our yard. Once again, demitasse sized blooms decorate the tree. The petals detach and fall, shards of velvet that land undamaged on the grass below.
The arcane pleasures of living in town grow on me. My medical appointments occur at the county hospital, just blocks away. The nurses adhere to strict protocols of treatment for my cancer, multiple myeloma. Yet, when I go there, I feel like I’m visiting neighbors for tea and conversation.
The close proximity of other activities leads to spontaneity and new found community. My wife and I walk to local restaurants, markets, and coffee shops. I’ve joined a book club. I interact with friends more. And, I still find ample time for being alone, something writers crave.
Though we might have celebrated the anniversary of our move to town, we were happily distracted by the birth of our granddaughter.
Today, I read and write on the back porch. Earth’s renewal, everlasting and fleeting, surrounds me.
In the pines nearby, a chorus of doves croon ballads of love. And song sparrows flit among the boughs of a paper birch that drapes the fence. They cling to the branches, which bob in a breeze, and rehearse the phrasing of an avian hymn, repeating again and again their alleluia to spring.