Turn, turn, turn

I'm craving shehecheyanu.

The sun was shining today, but it was cooler off the water, and sometimes, winter brings more comfort than the shiver of summer breeze. I'm learning of acceptance. I watch the tide roll in.

I know I shouldn't hope for it to linger, but yet, I always do.

(There's a photo sitting by my bedside. If you turn me sidewise, I look like I am smiling. I lock me in a slanted frame.)

To everything there is a season. We expect the sun to rise, the moon to set, the birds to sing, the snow to fall. We trace footsteps in the sand and know they will be washed away. We plant flowers in the springtime and know they're meant to bloom.

I've discovered my mortality.

I've begun imagining a future, and its glimmer tears apart my night. I'm collecting borrowed time. I look three ways before crossing the street. I wash my hands until they bleed. The day still shines ephemeral.

Still, the music always warns her end.