Glory
Jo:
This is
summer in its glory. When I love the
wind because it is only a strong breeze and when the low sunlight reveals the
patterns in the green of the leaves and catches in the loose bark of the birch
trees and the almost red of the tomatoes and everything glimmers together; when
my yard is my sanctuary.
And so I
begin again – summer picking me up from the spot where autumn placed me last
year. And I am ready again to see and learn and not
mind the months that have passed in between when my eyes were partially
concealed by my own concerns.
Summer
reveals paths into the unknown. But it
is when I come home that I feel its rhythm, its subtle changes, and the
September wind that sneaks in to rustle July leaves. Summer is not my favorite season, but it is
the one I most desire to hold in my grasp.
It is the season when everything is fully alive, breathing in as much
life as is possible. And I wish to
breathe in as much plump warm air as I am able; if I could only hold it in my
lungs for exhale on that not distant enough day, a few months from now when
this world will lay under a thick blanket of white.
But I know,
as I must accept in every season of summer that that is not the way of nature’s
wisdom; her wisdom that reveals itself in subtle encounters that prompt our
attention and feed our senses, and always she ushers us through the gateway
that leads to the next season of glory.
And so we
begin again, picking up the rhythm in the place we find ourselves, in the place
we allow ourselves to be found. Maybe it
is on a just warm enough summer evening aglow with light and play and promise
or a on dim morning stinging with an unforgiving chill. If you wait for the rhythm to find you it
always will.
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