Ebb and flow, constant change. The past is dying and whirling toward the ground in brilliant colors that give tribute to the role it played in who I'm becoming. Life is like its seasons. Continual death and growth, anger and love, sorrow and joy.
Every choice, good and bad- like a leaf, fall in unique colors. They are in the past and have fulfilled their purpose in my life. Then life takes a winter to rest and be ready to give nutrients to and nurture the next seasons' folliage.
But in death life is celebrated- it's beauty serenades us with the smell of decay and marvelous hues, reminding us of the song we are playing... where we were and where we're going. God gives us seasons, springtime and harvest, in their time.
He clothes us with new attitudes and purpose every spring. Yet as the leaves, the outer things which clothe us, die- the trunk remains. Who we are doesn't change. Our roots are still in the ground, our branches still brush the sky and we can still house a nest or two. We may also hold onto some leaves. They are never celebrated but turn brown leaving us looking dead.
There's a balance in the flow of it in God's plan, never lingering longer than we should, but not jumping forward into a new season we aren't prepared for.
(yes, I have posted this prose before... about a year ago. I thought it deserved another run :-] .)
