When you get to be my age, you find yourself wishing time would slow down. Or simply feel like it was slowing down. Working from home has only served to hasten its pace. Previous markers of time were made on a weekday basis: Monday through Friday we would drive past the same homes and gardens, and I could examine the slow creep of their growth and change. When passing them once a week, things seem to move much faster. That’s not good when you’re tottering on the dangerous precipice of middle age. No one wants to start the downhill slide to death with any unnecessary pushes.
I thought of that as I was walking in downtown Albany the other day. The linden trees had come into bloom and were almost done. Their fragrant perfume had already been largely spilled. Usually it linger sin the air for several days, but I could only smell these when I got up close. For many years I never knew what the delicious perfume was at this time of the year. It always made me smile – I attributed it to some magical gay pride fairy that wanted all the world to feel happy and, well, gay. It took quite a while to figure out the scent was coming from these humble trees.
This year I missed that.
I’m missing a lot right now.
We all are.
