I noticed yesterday that all the hazelnuts have leaves. It’s five years from nut to nuts, they say, but I don’t know how old any of our sticks were when we got them.
It’s a kind of ordinary truth that things just go on. And it’s kind of a relief and kind of an insult. People died. A lot of people’s lives will never be the same. The dog still has to be walked. The small hazelnut trees/bushes unroll their leaves and stretch them out in the sun. The wind blows. Soon enough, it rains.
It helps me understand the apocalyptic dream we have as people. We want to believe that we are important enough that even nature will notice our passing. Certainly, if we’re all gone, we think, that will show this old world that we meant something.
But we’d be gone and the water that drips down the rocks by the far field would still nourish the moss that grows there.
Nature isn’t nostalgic.
I am, though. I am.