Orchids produce millions of dust-fine seeds and they can live a hundred years.  The idea that they might be around as long as an exceptionally aged person insures their position as substantial life form. Their flowers last for an extended periods of time compared to most plants, they generally bloom during the peak of winter, and fade by summer.  But there is still one miraculous holdout on my window sill: the late, long bloomer.

Imagining myself the same way, late to bloom and capable of holding on to an extended hurrah, the other day in Woodstock with my newish beau, I was silently thinking of our life’s seasons.  Even though we’re experiencing childlike joy, we are not young.  There is no mystery to where we are headed.

In my reverie, I cuddled against him.  Instead of  expressing the fear of loss I was feeling, all I could get out was, “You know, one of us is going to die.”

And he said, “Well, from the latest evidence, I’m pretty sure we both are.”