today.

a number of years ago i became the proud owner of a cutting from jumping iris.  for months it sat on my windowsill in a large vase with some river rocks and water.  its roots grew and spread.  i planted it in organic soil, returning it once again to its sunny windowsill home.  it was happy there.  it grew and grew.  i noticed a spot amongst the leaves where it looked like the leaves were splitting.  i was amazed a few days later when i came home to see a beautiful flower blooming.  fragrant and delicate, with intricate purple, almost blue colors, maroon and bright green on a white background.  it smelled of springtime, reminding me of riding my bike past honeysuckle blossoms on early summer evenings.  what a gift.

and then, the next day, it was gone.  i was a little bummed about the fact the flower had been there for just a short time.  i looked through the leaves of the plant for more signs of impending blooms.  nothing.  it was one-and-done.

this year, that same plant flowered five times.  each time i have come home from work or a weekend away to find the same amazing flower waiting.  and every time, it only lasts a day.

today i had a pretty wonderful day.  the weather here was less than ideal for early june.  i had to wear a winter hat to keep warm.  i had to trade my flip-flops for socks and sneakers.  there was even cause for an umbrella.  i noted some soreness in my shoulder from last night's physical therapy workout.  this made me happy.  my shoulder is healing.  things are progressing.  i visited some friends who just got a new puppy to join their two year-old dog.  there is nothing quite like sitting on the floor, petting dogs, and absorbing some of their happy energy.  i had lunch with mom and dad.  we talked about what the rest of our day would hold for us.  we told one another "i love you" as we parted ways.  later, i talked with my brother as he was driving home from work.  he filled me in on what his sunday afternoon was like.  i gave him my reasoning for considering participating in a half marathon.  we said we'd talk soon and that we loved each other.  i joined a dear friend for dinner, a celebration dinner, of another dear friend we both feel honored to have had in our lives.  we shared happy stories of old times, happy-sad stories of how we remember her now at important times in our lives, wondered how it is that this friend's presence is so strong in our day to day comings and goings, and were sad when we had to share less happy news.  i savored dessert, a decaf whole-milk cappuccino.  the hints of cinnamon in the coffee, the sweetness of the milky foam.  i committed them to memory.  and, driving home, i made sure to note the clouds hanging low over brandywine battlefield and its wooden fences.  the sun will come out again. 

that's the thing.  24 hours.  that's all there is.  i try to enjoy the minutes, allowing time to be sad or angry or anxious when needed, but i always want to be able to have those moments and just be.  at times, i can do it.  others, not so much.  the friend we were celebrating today taught me a lot about noting the beauty, knowing it can be found in happy and sad times.  all those little moments are like tiny flowers that bloom, but are gone in the blink of an eye.