Out walking last Friday, the air was warm, the light was bright; it felt as though fall were still here. Even though the reflecting pond at the Christian Science Church complex had been drained for the winter season, their summer fountain sprayed streams of water-light designs in soft curves—remembering the time just weeks ago when children played in its celebration. I also found vestiges of summer color in this intrepid hydrangea pair that whispered blue in defiance of its dulled and dried out co-habitants on the same bush.
Just a few days later, other soft curves grew more pronounced under the weight of our first snow:
And so the season of extreme changes continues. I can see it in the weather and I can feel it in the pulse of my family and friends as the tension builds and all matters seem to burst into crises of one kind or another. Routines collapse and there is a kind of mad racing to the finish of the year, hoping, always hoping that this one will bring . . .
I'll let you finish that sentence yourselves. I know for me it changes day by day until I come back to the realization that the best approach is to love what is. Hold on to dreams as long as I'm willing to move toward them, but be sure to be open to the unexpected gifts along the way.
Out walking last Friday, the air was warm, the light was bright; it felt as though fall were still here. Even though the reflecting pond at the Christian Science Church complex had been drained for the winter season, their summer fountain sprayed streams of water-light designs in soft curves—remembering the time just weeks ago when children played in its celebration. I also found vestiges of summer color in this intrepid hydrangea pair that whispered blue in defiance of its dulled and dried out co-habitants on the same bush.
Just a few days later, other soft curves grew more pronounced under the weight of our first snow:
And so the season of extreme changes continues. I can see it in the weather and I can feel it in the pulse of my family and friends as the tension builds and all matters seem to burst into crises of one kind or another. Routines collapse and there is a kind of mad racing to the finish of the year, hoping, always hoping that this one will bring . . .
I'll let you finish that sentence yourselves. I know for me it changes day by day until I come back to the realization that the best approach is to love what is. Hold on to dreams as long as I'm willing to move toward them, but be sure to be open to the unexpected gifts along the way.
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