Seattle: Letters from the Youth

Dear Future, 

I forgot the other half of the nectarine on the counter, the one you brought, that I took, and I came back to the kitchen to a swath of ants like little black army men marching up and down the fruit. But you were nowhere to be found. Dear future, I look for you everywhere. I watch everyone and everything change around me. I occupy myself, but not a second has passed without you on my mind. 

Recently I learned that our earth is not much of a sphere. Land is lumpy, Gaia is a tulip bulb. The toils of Atlas are no different from that of a gardener. When we plant we hold the world on our shoulders. But I am worried this summer, future, of all that you could bring. Wildfires and smoke. Floods and hurricanes. There is no seed that will grow a perfect tomorrow, but we keep planting. We keep growing. We know you well. You are the poolside reflection, wavy in the water. You are where the light ends in a dark tunnel. You are the image of ourselves that is just slightly out of reach. I am told that you will stay out of reach. I am told that everything has come from every sacrifice we have named worthy. That true change can only speak by taking. But I would like to amend that any good change is an act of giving. Future, I know you as the best gift. Future, I do not wish for impossible things. I only wish for you. 

So today I will watch my father in the garden bed, tending with the hose, a hand braced on his hip and I will think of you. Today I will greet my mother, home for the night, a tired smile, and I will think of you. Today I will tell every friend I have that I love them, and I will think of you. Today I will start chipping away at the person I want to become. And of course, all the while, I will be thinking of you. For I refuse to forget what’s possible with you. 

Sincerely, 

Linus Elkins