Momentum

I've careened through these last weeks, since the 66th day of summer and my last writing. It's now the 80th. You can close your eyes and breathe for a second, it seems, and whole weeks have passed. I've been living my days, enjoying the pool and the sky and the breeze, the clouds that move across the skyscape, and time with people I love. 

My garden is completely overgrown. Growth from a weedy bush on the other side of my fence has burrowed underground and come up in my lawn. Weeds grow through the cracks in the spaces between the stones of my patio. Flowers bloom on my lettuce plants.

It never occurred to me that there is such a thing as lettuce flowers.

Twenty summer days are ahead of us. But it seems the seasons are already turning. Leaves fall from trees. Cool overnight temperatures make for cold morning swims. The air smells like fall is on the wind, a trace, a premonition. Color begins to tinge the leaves of small trees and shrubs.

I'm careening and the lettuce has bolted. Time to slow down.

Tomorrow Has Become Yesterday is a (nearly) daily writing practice that opens a landscape into my own human experience.

Katherine Cartwright has been blogging since 2012, and each year brings new wonders. She asks big questions of the small things in life.

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