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Because it's the first day of...
Mar. 20th, 2009 11:43 pmXV. Spring
Spring has come and gone over forty times since that summer of love's first awakening. Some years, it's blossomed like the flowering trees along the streets of the upstate town where I went to college. Other years, it's crunched under foot like the lingering frost in the soil of a farm where I lived in the Finger Lakes.
Those are the best years, the ones that have their own vivid lives in the memory of our senses. Those are the ones we'll write about in the hope that something of them will remain when we're not here to tell of them, to remark upon them and say how good it was to have lived them.
LPK
from The Baptist Preacher's
Beautiful Daughters,
an unpublished memoir
Spring has come and gone over forty times since that summer of love's first awakening. Some years, it's blossomed like the flowering trees along the streets of the upstate town where I went to college. Other years, it's crunched under foot like the lingering frost in the soil of a farm where I lived in the Finger Lakes.
Those are the best years, the ones that have their own vivid lives in the memory of our senses. Those are the ones we'll write about in the hope that something of them will remain when we're not here to tell of them, to remark upon them and say how good it was to have lived them.
LPK
from The Baptist Preacher's
Beautiful Daughters,
an unpublished memoir
