In early April we are dewdrops, balanced on a thread. Still peaceful, a curve of quiet morning light, only a moment away from peril. We will fall or evaporate. Either way, life changes.

We hang suspended knowing it’s coming, but for now, stillness.

Each move upends our life and marks a complete change of everything. The age of our babies, the size of our beds, the shape of our pizza, the weekly groceries and the store where we buy them. There is no gentle curve of one year becoming another, or subtle shift of sandboxes and stuffed animals. In our everyday life, these things are here, then the moving truck comes and they’re not.

Which of our rhythms will abruptly disappear this time? It’s a disorienting thing, to move. Like loving and losing people, life can sometimes feel like a long string of being disoriented.

But for now, these moments are our life. And on the other side of this summer, there is a new song waiting to start.

When we fall, we fall together.

I hope our little dewdrop is strong enough to hold.