Change happens. My little girls, all about growing up and I can't help it, can't stop it, don't wish to. I'm little and big, she says. Yes, you are and somewhere so am I, that clinging seed cozied in the earth reluctant and resolute.
May turns tassels and makes plans and waves hello and goodbye. I prefer change that comes quietly. In May, change bursts. The earth falls out from under you. I spend a lot of the summer recovering.