The Montauk daisies are blooming on the edge of the beach, but I’m not there to see them yet. I have only just learned their name from my mother who is waiting at the bottom of a hill with me. Our family is doing one of their nightly walks. Earlier that morning my father had sat at the dining room table with me and gave name to different birds. We had started doing this at Christmas. It was easier to see the birds against the snow, but nonetheless, there were new faces to acquaint myself with.
At the bottom of the hill, we can hear both the leaves being rustled by the wind passing through them and the waves crashing on the beach some distance away. I have written about such moments before. I knew this to be true, but want to write them again because it is October, and by the time I am back here none of this will be true anymore. The wind will shake branches where leaves used to be and the flowers will have fallen off and all I will have is this moment here.
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