There is a time for every season under the sun, or thus spoke the preacher. Was it the old king of Israel or Zarathustra? Regardless, there is a time for every season, a time to hold on and a time to let go. There is a time to stay and a time to move on. There is a blessing in every season. In some seasons the blessing is making space, in cutting things away, pruning, and letting go. In other seasons the blessing is in filling the space, gaining new insights inquiries, in doing more, or holding on when everyone else says to move on. If you don’t know what season you’re in, you’ll miss the appropriate blessing.
Marshall Curtis
The season is changing, line of blue sky and grey clouds, warmth is coming, mosquitos buzzing, ducks dabbling, goslings losing their fuzz.
I seasoned the chicken just as Grandma had shown me so long ago. Then fried it in her podcast iron skillet and felt the ghost other whisper in my ear “you got it, honey”.
Lynne
It was when the temperature changed, the weather became sometime fierce, that we could finally register that the season was changing.
A certain time of the year, and the cycle keeps on going. The leaves fell, the freezing wind, the humidity, and then the leaves are blooming on the trees again. Almost the same. Almost.
Maybe the season cycles back. But our feelings often does not.
It was hot when they met, bugs screamed louder than thunder. Days melted into weeks, into months, then all became crisp. Once they could call a breath their own, it had manifested into billowing clouds, streaming from their mouths like dragons.
There is a time for every season under the sun, or thus spoke the preacher. Was it the old king of Israel or Zarathustra? Regardless, there is a time for every season, a time to hold on and a time to let go. There is a time to stay and a time to move on. There is a blessing in every season. In some seasons the blessing is making space, in cutting things away, pruning, and letting go. In other seasons the blessing is in filling the space, gaining new insights inquiries, in doing more, or holding on when everyone else says to move on. If you don’t know what season you’re in, you’ll miss the appropriate blessing.
The season is changing, line of blue sky and grey clouds, warmth is coming, mosquitos buzzing, ducks dabbling, goslings losing their fuzz.
I seasoned the chicken just as Grandma had shown me so long ago. Then fried it in her podcast iron skillet and felt the ghost other whisper in my ear “you got it, honey”.
It was when the temperature changed, the weather became sometime fierce, that we could finally register that the season was changing.
A certain time of the year, and the cycle keeps on going. The leaves fell, the freezing wind, the humidity, and then the leaves are blooming on the trees again. Almost the same. Almost.
Maybe the season cycles back. But our feelings often does not.
It was hot when they met, bugs screamed louder than thunder. Days melted into weeks, into months, then all became crisp. Once they could call a breath their own, it had manifested into billowing clouds, streaming from their mouths like dragons.