There was a day in late May early one morning, where I was just sitting on my balcony drinking my coffee. I was rather annoyed, mildly shocked, at the condition of its disarray. Only four years ago, my balcony was empty. I had just moved in, my life in the bay a blank slate, and within days, I had an easel upon it and a fresh canvas, starting my first oil painting. A few months later, I would find my dad joyfully working on it, planting lavender, chrysanthemums, rosemary, as well as a camellia tree. A bouquet of reds, whites, yellows, and purple accompanied me each day, especially early morning and early evening to watch the sunrise, sunset and every so often the moon rise.
Today, my balcony looks markedly different. And I wonder if the end is near. I’ve always had a hard time saying goodbye. I’m sure I knew it then that I would soon be leaving home to go back home. Sausalito would someday be a memory, perhaps to be lived daily another day. Chicago, my one-time past would now be my future. It only seems like yesterday that I was sitting on another balcony years prior this time in Chicago knowing that I would be leaving it for somewhere in the Bay Area. I had a very hard time leaving Chicago then but knew once I arrived in Sausalito that my life would be better in so many ways. Those thoughts seem like both yesterday and years ago. Life has a way of pointing you to the future. It’s inevitable and it’s our choice whether to embrace it or run away from it. My thoughts bring me back to the present.
Bright, beautiful flowers are now replaced by brown and grey, dried-out leaves. Green leaves replaced by shriveled ones. Weeds and cobwebs have taken over. Only my camellia tree stands strong, having grown taller against her competition. Surprisingly, there’s a plant I bought that at the time, seemingly the weakest, but has over the years produced the most brilliantly red flowers, still blooming and shining its petals. Fittingly so, at this moment, it’s grey outside. There’s a sliver of hope, however as the sun’s rays do break through in the distance.
There is always a glimmer of hope.
That’s what’s so great about the future.
And that’s why I’m only posting pictures of Taylor, carrying a big stick.
Originally written 30 May 2017
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