May time again and again I’m thankful to live in it. There are about fifty acres of bright yellow oilseed flowers at the end of my road. I’ve watched the plants grow through the winter. Next year these fields will produce wheat. All the farms round here seem to alternate these two crops.
A couple of miles away I watch a hot air balloon descend, with dignity, into one of the many fields of gold. These balloons are another sign of the changing season as they appear each year, in the lighter, evening skies. They’re another welcome sight, not so much for themselves but for what they represent: longer days.
You can’t capture the seasons any more than you can a racing spider as you chase it into the corner of a room. They do not stay, any more than does ‘time’s winged chariot’. I’ve had 80 May times in my life, and I thank God for them as they come – and also as yet another ends.
People complain about the oilseed plant but it leaves me a clear view of the lovely, distant hills covered in beech trees. I’m happy if it keeps the farmer in business.
You can’t capture the moment, entrap it, mummify it. If you capture the spider it will die.
But I try constantly to live – in the moment.