Today, my dad sent me a picture of the yard in front of our house. Around it were flimsy green walls made for construction. I guess someone’s building a house there. I’m on a trip on the opposite side of the world, so by the time I get back, they would’ve already dug up the dirt.
The yard across from our house is four times the size of ours. Every summer, the tall grass would start to dry. Every autumn, the yard would become bare. Every winter, small, green sprouts would appear— and, as spring arrives, without fail, flowers the color of the sun would blossom with a hue, covering every inch of the field.
Now as I look at the picture, I feel a sudden emptiness.
Do not mistake this for anger. Everything material changes eventually. Many springs were spent glancing at that yard— admiring it from across the street. We would see coyotes howl, rabbits hop, and the occasional deer wandering by. The morning birds would sing, wishing us farewell on our routine drive to school. At daybreak in cool winter, a blanket of frost would lay softly spread out across all the field’s length. A kind couple in their eighties owned the right half of the field. Their grandchildren have visited once or twice and we all jumped on their big round trampoline. That was the inspiration for our own trampoline. The grandpa, Larry, used to bring my sisters and I poppies from his garden in the field. A bright sunset orange, they are the national flower of our golden state. Now, the poppy house only holds one. The grandma, Pat still visits us sometimes. Her baked goods are the best I’ve ever had. Even though she still takes care of the garden, those bright, sunset orange poppies no longer seem to grow.
There’s a tree on the left side of the field that never seems to grow. It is just a little taller than me and its silhouette remains forever familiar. A giant pine tree sits on the line of right and left. Come Christmas time, I imagine it all decorated with lights. I wonder if it will become a part of our future neighbor’s house.
I enjoyed the peace and quiet of our secluded home. I enjoyed how the vastness of the tall green grass hid the rabbits from the coyotes and how the colorful garden near Larry and Pat’s home harbored warm memories. I enjoyed being the only house in that hundred or so meter area. I enjoyed watching the animals roam. I enjoyed hearing the bird’s compositions.
The only problem is, I didn’t realize just how much I enjoyed it until it was slowly being taken away. I think that’s the same with everything in life. Sometimes, you might not realize just how much you appreciate something until it’s no longer present. I didn’t know that this spring was the last spring I would see the yard across the street in full bloom; nor that it was the last summer, autumn, and winter. I didn’t know the last time I would see the rabbits hop was the last time. You never know when the last time is. Or maybe you do. But even then, I’d advise you not to be so sure.
This being said, “live every day as if it was your last”. Enjoy it, appreciate it whenever you can. For you never truly know when the last time is.
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Perhaps when I am breathing my last, I will ask for one measly strip of bacon, one more moment of ecstasy before I am no more. God, make it so!