Last and First (May 2026)

Here’s a little poem I wrote in a note on my phone as I watched my oldest son’s final baseball game of the season, with a team that will never be assembled again, in the waning days of another school year. Our preschooler, kindergartener, and second-grader are signing yearbooks and saying goodbye to teachers and classmates. How did the last nine months go by so fast? Every year as a parent, this week registers for me as bittersweet; a rite-of-passage reminder that time and age only go in one direction. Endings and beginnings. Joy for what’s been accomplished, lament for what’s forever past. 

Last little league game of the season 

Last light of an early summer day

Last laughs in a kindergarten classroom

Last lemons from the winter citrus crop

First fruits of our blueberry bush

First flora on the Sierra peaks

First family trip up the California coast

First fog of “June Gloom” gray

Last learnings with teachers we love

Last lingering on the playground after school

First feelings of ache at time’s onward march

First freedom and glee at the break begun

Last lullaby before baby sleeps

First feeling of the joy that smiles and weeps