Almost Over

I love this time of year. Winter’s chill is nearly off the bone and spring’s sweet breath lies in the fragrance of flowers. It’s warm enough to walk at dusk. I wonder at the wisteria hanging gracefully from neighbor’s vines, but it’s really the lilacs I am after. I stalk their scent like an addicted lover. I’m not brave enough to steal, though. May is almost over and so are the lilacs. Like melting ice cream they cannot stay forever. As May winds down so do their blooms. Melting, melting like ice cream.

I’ve decided I can and will make it to Monhegan this weekend. Mother says the lilacs on the island are behind, barely buds. Like a migratory bird I need to fly home. Maybe the lilacs will welcome me. Maybe I’ll welcome myself. I’ll pack books, knitting, running shoes and a journal. Early in the morning I’ll read a chapter or two or three. Maybe I’ll go to the Cove and read by drying tidepools and squawking gulls, smell the salty air, pause for seashells and glass. Early in the afternoon I’ll run over rocks, roots and ruts. Maybe I’l’l head to Cathedral and say a little prayer for strong legs, a good heart and clear mind. The quiet of woods will be wonderful. At sunset I’ll write in my journal (thank you sweet P for my kitty journal!) – away from emails, blogs and spaces. Maybe I’ll write for real and send a postcard or two. By candlelight I’ll knit a few rows, purl a few more. Maybe I’ll finish the wrap for my mother. Maybe I’ll start another book. Maybe I’ll coax lilacs to bloom. Maybe I’ll watch sunsets in silence. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Here’s what I know. Lilacs don’t last forever. Neither does life. I have to enjoy it before it melts away.