I’ll take it as a good sign that the California poppies in front of our house seem to be coming up as thick as grass this year. Maybe it’s the milder winter. Maybe they’re planning a goodbye display for us. But whatever the case, there are going to be lots of them. I planted the first seeds six years ago, but now they just reseed themselves and pop up on their own.
Today it’s the ides of March. It doesn’t seem too threatening, though. Especially with spring break just around the corner. I’m a little more wary of the ides of April and May and June and maybe even July and August and September, depending on how Peter and Joseph are adjusting to the move. Okay, so I tend to be wary.
But also hopeful. There are things to be hopeful about. Peter has settled into something of a pattern that may get him through the semester with credit. Joseph seems to be accepting our move a bit more (or just ignoring it for now. Okay, I’m still pretty wary on that front). Our house is still in escrow. I have not run screaming out of my classroom and quit.
And the poppies are growing, quietly, steadily. In their unassuming way the plants around me mark the passage of time, bloom and die with no apparent regret, giving their all. The sunlight (what we see of it anyway) is longer now, lightening the evenings. Everything is slipping into a more comfortable place, a slightly warmer place (only slightly, here in Oregon).