Irises have long been my favorite flower. Why then, did it nearly break my heart this morning when I was forced to trade in the “fragrant cluster” of poppies, hydrangea, lilacs and freesia of January for February’s vase of the delicate indigo blossoms?
It isn’t the irises themselves which are to blame for my mental anguish, of course, but rather the act of flipping the pages of my calendar. (Which, in case you haven’t figured it out, has a flower theme.)
In theory, it’s easy enough, right? Flipping the calendar page from one month to the next. We do it like clockwork, after all. Every 28, 30 or 31 days. Why then, does that page, which logic clearly indicates weighs only a few ounces, seem to take on the weight of the world on the first of the month.
When I was younger, the time seemed to pass like molasses. Each season felt like it lasted for a full decade. You could fit an entire vacation into a weekend. The stretch of time between birthdays or Christmas was so long that you could barely remember the last.
I remember at 4, crying that a whole year would have to pass before I got to go to school.
Now, I cry for an entirely different reason. Because it’s as if time flies by, with days, weeks, months and even years slipping past in a blink of an eye.
Maybe it’s age, I don’t know. But I find myself fighting it more and more. Hence the difficulty I have in bringing myself to flip that calendar page every month.
I actually thought this calendar would help. Because while this time of year it makes me think of the new growth of spring and the sunny warmth of summer, it also reminds me to stop and smell the flowers of life along the way.
So this month, I’ll pledge to savor these irises each day and make the most of them before it’s time to flip the page once more. Hopefully, when that time comes, and I have to trade them in for March’s tulips, I’ll be able to do it without regret for the passage of time.
That’s a tall order, but something to strive for, none the less.
Especially since I absolutely love tulips.
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