Today I sit at the table looking out the window, as I usually do. But at quarter to seven in the evening, the sky is still blue enough, with enough golden rays hitting the side of the Hilton hotel across the way to show that there’s still a good amount of daylight left. I think about how just a few weeks ago, sunset seemed an awfully long time coming, particularly to those who were waiting to break their day-long fast. Back then, 6:45pm meant a good hour left until a drop of water could touch the parched lips. And yet here we are – the sun is almost disappearing at the same time on the clock. There’s warmth left in the breeze, the rays are no longer scorching but a relief to feel. The expected chill is not so chilly, and summer is gently hanging on by a few beautiful amber threads. I am reminded yet again of just how ephemeral life really is, and how relative time is.
About two and a half months ago, I was in a house full of anticipatory relatives, gearing up for the long-awaited wedding of “the next cousin-in-line,” the one who had already been skipped over once, the one who has already gone past the “prime” time for marriage. Mine. I am sure they all breathed an audible sigh of relief that it was finally happening, and when it finally happened. Back then, I could not imagine the month of September without several knots twisting and turning in my stomach, or without my brain ricocheting off in various directions, wondering if it all really was going to happen. Summertime seemed like a true diamond in the water (it’s besides the point that I don’t even like diamonds) – something to hold onto dearly because I couldn’t tell if a married life of September was really going to appear or some catastrophic situation would ruin everything and render all of this a tottering dream. The season that has always been the sweetest to me seemed even more precious than ever before. It held meaning like it never had before. Every day that passed was another day that would be entirely changed a year from thence. To be sure, June 7th comes around every year – but never again will it come around in this anticipatory state, in a pre-marriage, solitary kind of way. And it was beautiful.
Just like these summer days that are disappearing one by one, that time did too, full to the brim with expectation and beauty. There was a lament of previous days gone by mixed with the anticipation and excitement of what will follow. The colors of fall, the smell and the sounds—they unfold little by little, baring open the full brightness of the reds, yellows, oranges and browns that are sure to paint the landscape. With the change in the wind, will come a quiet and peaceful inner warmth – a feeling of being encased in someone else’s arms when all around feels chilly. And that someone else being my husband – well, that is a wonderful thing indeed.