Why Hurry?

At this point in the year, everything is out of control. The lessons of February and March are useless: lessons of patience, lessons of waiting and watching. Everything was slow and easy when the weather was cold. It was easy to find only one or two things to add to the week’s inventory of changes in the flora and the weather. It was easy to be lazy, to stay indoors, to watch the fire. The signs of spring were almost the same from one day to the next. It would probably be gray and rainy one more day, I often told myself. Why hurry?

Now, nothing waits for me. My winter skills have backfired. All through February, I kept thinking that I had plenty of time. In March, there was always one more day. The good life and the good times were coming. They were not coming soon enough, but they were not coming too soon, either.

When the leaves fell in November, I conditioned myself to accept stasis as the norm. I wallowed in looking forward and backward instead of looking at the present. I learned to relish the glow of anticipation. I did the languid work of fantasy and remembering. Against the quiet landscape, I took heart in resignation.

Becoming wonderfully sluggish, I indulged sinfully in plans and lists, fattening them for the distant feast of action. I fell in love with what might have been and still might be. I put off until tomorrow, and I found the truth therein.

And now that everything is blooming, I discover I’m not prepared. Things are moving too quickly. How could I possibly keep up? Betrayed by fulfillment, I lie back in sweet bewilderment. After all, it’s much too late. By the time I’m ready, everything will have disappeared, gone in the twinkling of eye. It’s much too late. Why should I hurry?