May 21st is the anniversary of my friend’s death three years ago. Time is a deceiver: how could it be three years already? How could it be 12 years since my mother’s death, 61 years since my father’s passing? The farther away I get from these touchstones in time, the nearer I get to the bedrock of who I am and why I have been selected to be born, to live through this short span called my life. The lilacs are in bloom everywhere and when I open the door to their spring world, it is as if a door inside has opened, too.

moon of many flowers
these lilacs inhaling
me, too

Bio: Marjorie Buettner