here and now

There are wild roses run amuck all behind my house. Tiny little white blossoms at the end of thriving thorny bushes and branches. They have made clearing in the back nearly impossible, but they’re also somehow what make it worth it. Their claws are more fierce than the claws of any cat I’ve ever met. Yet once our paths were cleared, and they suddenly blossomed, they looked like the most delicate beauty of nature. They did to the paths and bushes and trees what the fog does to the rocky seaside, somehow making it more peaceful, deep, and silent within sound. But unlike the fog, which can seem to last forever, and often comes back the morning after it left, these roses are fleeting. They blossomed lightly one weekend, the next they were in their full glorious bloom, and now most have turned light brown, begun to whither and disappear back into the thorny bushes.

The most important things, the most striking things, often seem to be the most fleeting or the longest lasting. Maybe because time is the uncontrollable thing that nobody has yet to conquer. Middle things are just normal. Fleeting things are delirious, exciting, like a cold shower on a sweltering day, or like a car race going so fast to be done before you know it. These fleeting things, tulips at the beginning of spring, the first steps of a child, that new car smell, the new year’s countdown, or wild roses in the backyard. We give them importance because of their brevity. I don’t stand with awe in the backyard and look at the strong long stalk, now nearly blossom free, with its strong thick thorns and wonder at its strength and tenacity. It’s always there, it grows consistently. I hardly notice it.

Or we embrace those things that seem to last forever. Old couples celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary, old redwoods in California, the mountains in the Rockies, the rocks by the sea, the cathedrals in England, the cliff-dwellings in the southwest. These are so amazing for their timelessness. As if time somehow doesn’t affect them. As if they’ve lasted so long to be beyond us, beyond the daily grind, beyond even the fleeting beauties of nature.

Maybe we only see these things as markers, reminding of us our lives… living. Maybe seeing the fleeting blossom of the wild rose helps us appreciate the fleeting taste of fresh strawberries, or any of the other brief flavors of life. And maybe seeing things that seem to last forever remind us of the long time-line of our own lives, their histories reminding us of our own. But while the scent of lilacs, new baby or the air before the rain may seem to disappear, every breath still breathes in smells. Every day there is something fleeting to take notice of, some are just less obvious, like the shiny new green thorns on the wild rose bushes before they are their full darkness and strength. And everyday there are things around which seem to last forever, or at least contain deep history within them. Like this street in front of me, that now stands with a streetlight standing tall, but which was once the only road in and out of town, carrying many walkers and buggies. Maybe we don’t see that old couple every day, but what about all the sisters, brothers or friends that have lived in thought together forever. Or what about that pet dog that lives all it knows of forever with complete devotion

I don’t know. Maybe seeing those redwoods just makes us believe in forever, or in true love. Or maybe by believing in both fleeting beauties and things that last forever, we can live fully and appreciate today.