this too shall be a clichéd poem

as i walked the dog around the block i noticed that, after two hot days, the irises have burst open in streaming glory and the lilacs are really getting going. i love it.

recently i was thinking about how often i say "it's really been a tough year." it's been "a tough couple years" year after year.

maybe that's just life. maybe i should stop thinking that "tough years" are such an anomaly. i'd probably be happier if i could stop hoping for that golden "good year" and instead spend more time savoring good moments, happy things, of which there really are many, and accept that years are made up of millions of moments, tough and easy.

i have a suspicion that one or two other people have pointed this out. yes, my realization is a cliché. so fucking sue me.

looking at the flowers, i thought to myself that i might as well say, "oh my god, it's been such a heartbreaking spring - first the daffodils died, then the tulips, soon the irises will be just brown pulp, i can't bear it!" heh.

recently was discussing poetry with a friend and frost's "nothing gold can stay" came up. (friend commented that he likes that poem but hates "the outsiders" in which the poem is quoted.) true that "nothing gold can stay," but actually, as buddhism tells us (and actually so does the bible), nothing at all can stay. nothing good, nothing bad, it all passes. long-term things are made up of moments, some good, some bad, and all pass.

let go. let it all go. *sigh*

another *sigh*

ok.