Summer weather is finally here, which means playground! Which means sand! Jubby is squishing it in his hands and sneaking it into his drooly mouth. He squirms out of my arms. He must be set down! He must crawl!
Someone recently posted a video of a “live painting.” Lines are drawn, erased, redrawn, and layered to show a time lapse of a baby aging into an old woman. The stages are transient, fluid, natural, deep. To see it like this, as a morphing image, made me feel many things.
I don’t quite know how to articulate them. I immediately thought of my favorite line from the third Game of Thrones book A Storm of Swords:
The oak recalls the acorn, the acorn dreams the oak, the stump lives in them both.
— George R.R. Martin
I read that line many times, over and over, to etch it into my memory. There’s something so profound packaged in it. “Oak” and “acorn” and “stump.” Those three images. “Recalls” and “dreams” and “lives.” Those three actions.
I’m just kind of mulling it over, this puzzle of time and human transformation as I sit and knit and knit and knit. I think of Shelley (“Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”) while we listen to one song on repeat: Ontario band Walk Off the Earth’s Rule the World (our summer anthem).
These summer days of riding scooters with light-up wheels, scraping chins and knees and elbows, trying to double dutch, blowing bubbles, grilling dinners, making ice cream, and staying up an extra hour with the sun. (“I said I rule the world!”) And here I am, the acorn thinking of the stump. Trying so very hard to be a good oak.
Whatever any of it even means.