Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Still lives; stilling life
Nor will I put the season's first apples in the silver bowl again this year. Just like the sunshine in my comfortable corner and the harvest moon, the first apples are a once-a-year event. In some ways that's helpful: singular events keep us aware of the passing of time in a way that's celebratory rather than infused with our mortality.
Yet like the photograph above, this all seems slightly out of focus. My relationship to time--probably one of the most complicated relationships in my entire life--has been a bit different this summer because it's my last one before retirement. I've tried to keep up a full schedule of writing, tried to make good headway on the Woolf book, in spite of the fact that I still have much to do and could, perhaps reasonably, just sigh and give up until I retire. Yet I've also been trying to spend more time with my introverted cat, Twig, who really wants me to retire--perhaps more than anyone. He thinks it's so cool that I hunker down to have my coffee with him in the morning. These moments, when I sit where the sunshine is above, have slowed down time, almost stilled it.
I'm more and more aware that each moment in my life, like the first apples or a harvest moon, is one I cannot have again. Whether it's August or February, moments have their singularity, and I would like to find a way during my last year of teaching to frame such moments--in focus or even a little bit out.
at 10:56 PM