Counting Seeds...

My kindergarten teacher kept a construction paper watermelon slice tacked to the wall.  The seeds represented the days until summer.  Each day, she'd take one down and we'd sing a song we learned throughout the year.  I remember thinking, "The seeds will never run out!"  It was a bittersweet thought.  Part of me wanted to be in school forever, singing songs and drawing pictures, and the other part of me looked forward to visiting my grandparents in Arkansas and seeing my cousins.  Time seemed to move so slowly then.

These days, when I close my eyes to go to sleep, it's hard to remember the blur of events from the day.  Things are a jumble of quickly moving moments and scattered fragments – too many deadlines, emails, and phone conversations.  It seems as though I am constantly making plans for things that seem so far away, but then are here and gone.  The blooms of spring, so eagerly anticipated, will soon fade and be replaced by other flowers.

Much of what I am doing now centers around our moving the store.  If it's not actually working on getting all the proper paperwork in order, publicizing the move, or packing boxes, I am picking up freelance jobs to help cushion the transition or feverishly working to ever-promote my work and our goals.  Many of the things, I can't even say what they are until they've been published or officially launched.  It's exhausting.

In my mind, there's a watermelon wedge.  The seeds too quickly are slipping through my fingertips.