Metaphor

      There is a sizeable lilac bush in the yard of The Little House. During last year's drought I kept it watered and now it rewards with gorgeous purple blooms. Fragrance wafts from it. It is best not to pick the flowers. Pick the flowers and put them in a vase with water and they quickly wilt.

    That could be a metaphor for living in the moment. The past is that, past. The future is also that, future. What is a available is the present and that's a present to us when we savor the moment. Let the past go, forego anxiety about the future. Now is what we have, like blossoms on a lilac bush that bloom for a short while, but longer, if we don't pluck them.

Takk for alt,

Al 

One of the guests at the anniversary party yesterday admitted that she reads my blog (four readers now?) and that she liked this picture so I'm reposting in her honor. One foot in Norway and the other in Sweden.

 Spring

by Linda Pastan

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms.