The fat bumblebees bump against one another as they search out the remains of the coneflower pollen in the yard.

They’re after the last drops of golden summer.

I wonder where they go now – do they migrate?

It seems like they are trying to hold on to the summer.

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And now I think about things that I try to hold on to – safety, security, love.

I close my eyes and make a wish upon these falling leaves – I’ll see you next year.

See you next summer.

So much is uncertain in our lives these days, and even the seasons can’t be relied upon.

But I want to hold this moment in time forever.

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These days, my 2-year-old grandson is mastering the art of object permanence. He is learning to say goodbye to us without crying and thinking that he will never see us again.

And he is also able to leave his toys at our house and say “I’ll play with you next time” and it breaks my heart just a little.

Because he is learning the art of letting go. And the faith that the world will be the same when he comes back.

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Yes, it is a milestone to know that fundamental things will remain in tact in our universe.

But also, there is the trade-off – one must first learn to say goodbye.

And I’ll never get good at this, I swear.

To be in the present moment and also know that it is already past.

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All I can say is that my grandson’s developmental milestone is also a life lesson for me.

Like the bumblebee, I chase the pollen and try not to worry about what happens next.

Faith and hope, I guess.

A bumbling proposition.

To trust in a world that is dying all around me, but one with seeds prepared to sprout when the coming days grow longer.