Just this day

The Ottawa River in winter.

It’s our first snowfall. 

In The Sheltering Sky, an American expatriate watches a full moon rise over a North African city. He remarks,

Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. And yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four, or five times more? Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? 

When I saw the snow this morning, I asked, “is this my last first snowfall?” Reader, that question was not directed at you; it was an observation, not a complaint or plea. We have only so many days to spend. A terminal diagnosis makes that tangible.

I’ve kept a daily task list for decades; I prune it each morning. Usually, I’m sloppy and list more things than I can do. This morning, I cut it back radically.