One week to go. One week until we reclaim our weekends from soccer games, one week until all the goodbyes are said, one week until the most urgent question for my daughters of, “who will be their teacher next year”, is answered. One week until time opens up and we breath deep with the satisfaction that long hikes, spontaneous fun and cool water (or cold ocean water) awaits.
But these last few days crawl. I look at my calendar, packed with minutiae and excitedly glimpse the weeks beyond, for the most part, a blank slate. Time will elapse no doubt, but at the moment, my favorite Carlisle barn clock, permanently frozen at 9:35 a.m., underscores my impatience to leap forward to a point when a clock won’t be needed to keep track of my day.