I remember the look. I never wanted to see it again. I picked one green apple from my grandmother’s tree, took a bite, through it to the cows, then picked another. It could have stopped time, that gaze. I looked around. Apples everywhere. On the trees. On the ground. In her basket. I shrugged my shoulders. She raised her eyebrows. With no words, I knew, simply having did not give me permission to waste it. 

With some things it’s easy to remember. Like my paint. Using a glass palette, I can see what I’m using. Less gets abandoned in the clutter. It’s not as easy with everything. And I often have to remind myself. Like with the days for example. With the minutes of each hour. When I think of the time I’ve wasted in worry, or complaint, I can see myself standing in a sea of green, and I race to bushel all the wasted moments. What a gift it is to have another day. Promises of youth remain. I am filled with possibilities.