Today's Flowers: Between the Lily and the Turtle

I am reading Neil Gaiman's 1997 collection of short stories, Smoke and Mirrors. In one story he notes the sorrow that accompanies a father's joy as he fills his sleeping children's Christmas stockings. It is the sorrow that comes with knowing that nothing lasts forever, that time won't let you sit still and be comfortable--not for too long, anyway. I love Gaiman's writing for saying what I know and feel so well. I feel this sorrow when I walk along the beach--or anywhere at all, really.

Last Sunday, for example, I crossed the street from the beach to a bike path and encountered this fully formed, beautiful tortoise crushed to death strangely and neatly on the side of the road where it seemed he should have been completely safe.

There's something about these reptiles and the way they move that reminds me of human vulnerability. Or maybe it's the shell--somehow emblematic of all we do to shield ourselves from the blows of daily living. We can't shield ourselves completely or forever. Life and death come, and they exact a heavy price.

Stepping away from the turtle, moving on, I came across these beautiful lilies in the sand. The morning light seemed to catch them on fire without burning them. They were so delicate and beautiful, alive with the breath of the sea breeze and doing what flowers do. Somewhere between the turtle and the flower, I live. Sorrow tempers joy as joy tempers sorrow. The thing is to live while you can.