"He did not want the seasons to change,"
I reflected as I fingered the marigold dead heads, crushing their brown and roasted calendula scent. I could understand, then, as I felt the life-giving sun beat against my forearms, warming my numb-cold sedentary spirit.
I could understand as I felt the atrophied muscles of memory give way to the overflowing generosity of crepe myrtle blossoms and the garden of basil and flowers, and flowering, licorice-scented basil.
(My life had gone to seed, scattered in places I didn't look for, scattered about like lost time.)
But I knew, too, as I watched June’s border collie figure fighting a battle against fleas, that the seasons must change. We must accept the loss of the trees’ verdure with open arms to the next thing, and only the very next thing. We must embrace it until it is taken away again. We must learn this letting go practice, this taking on of something new and frightening, this releasing control of a universe we were never meant to manipulate.
I released the little clocks into the wind. I scattered the soil of time into the air, but took some with me as a token, into my skin, into my wanderer spirit.
I am the recipient of good things.
I am the endurer of hard things.
I am Pilgrim; I am Adventurer.
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
I reflected as I fingered the marigold dead heads, crushing their brown and roasted calendula scent. I could understand, then, as I felt the life-giving sun beat against my forearms, warming my numb-cold sedentary spirit.
I could understand as I felt the atrophied muscles of memory give way to the overflowing generosity of crepe myrtle blossoms and the garden of basil and flowers, and flowering, licorice-scented basil.
(My life had gone to seed, scattered in places I didn't look for, scattered about like lost time.)
But I knew, too, as I watched June’s border collie figure fighting a battle against fleas, that the seasons must change. We must accept the loss of the trees’ verdure with open arms to the next thing, and only the very next thing. We must embrace it until it is taken away again. We must learn this letting go practice, this taking on of something new and frightening, this releasing control of a universe we were never meant to manipulate.
I released the little clocks into the wind. I scattered the soil of time into the air, but took some with me as a token, into my skin, into my wanderer spirit.
I am the recipient of good things.
I am the endurer of hard things.
I am Pilgrim; I am Adventurer.
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
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