Were there a fruit that grew in my garden throughout winter, I wonder if winters would seem a little less interminable. I watch the apples ripening on the tree out the back right now and it feels like I’m watching an hourglass containing the precious sand of summer. There’s so much to do all the time, so much I want to do. Nobody told me I’d feel that way at fifty-eight. Fifty-nine! Fifty-nine, not fifty-eight. It’s so easy to forget sometimes.