You know, I read the thing saying that I can expect my new Eastern redbud to live about twenty-five years (less if planted in full sun), and I have a hard time comprehending it. Because it's a tree. A tree! In my head, I'm pretty convinced trees live forever.
Seasonal change today. Switched out the flannel sheets for cotton, put a linen slipcover over the velvety couch, and later today will put away winter clothes and bring out the sundresses and tank tops. I know Chicago likes to be whimsical with its weather, and perhaps it will punish me with a freak snowstorm in late May, but I am daring the shift anyway. Because I couldn't bear to sit on my couch or sleep in my bed otherwise.
This is not the Future we grew up expecting when we were in an optimistic mood, but it is an intereting Future nonetheless where we can order a tree thru a computer.