Slow down hurry up.

On Friday, we took a grandson to lunch for his sixth birthday. A few weeks earlier, he was trying to slow down time, since he was thoroughly enjoying being five and not too sure about six--trying, in his words, to "save himself from six." (Quixotically, however, he also wants to "fast forward to Christmas.")

The people: I am interested in saving myself from spring--we are on the cusp of it, today a delicious day, just on the cusp of it. I have seeds I've purchased that I'm going to plant: lettuces, kale, peas, sweet peas, poppies, larkspur. I like that there's still a chill in the air. I like that it's too soon yet to wear flip flops, shorts, bare legs--but it's almost here. I would like to pause

while this moment lasts and lasts and lasts.

This desire to linger has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that time rushing by means that the elapsing of sabbatical time also rushes. Nothing whatsoever.