Any time I grab a gallon of milk, always just the milk, I check the expiration date. (Not even eggs, I don’t. And do eggs really expire anyway? When I was a kid they didn’t.)
Almost nothing reminds me more of the passage of time than this simple, quick glance. A not too far off date that puts provides perspective.
Today, the milk said 6/27/21.
What the what?!? The weather only recently warmed up. I only just flipped the calendar to June. How is it almost the Fourth of July? That means 2021 is half over.
For some reason, this disturbs me more today than other times, other years, certainly other months.
Life is whirring by like sand slipping through my fingers. And I have no way of slowing it down. Forget about stopping it.