seasons are subtle, even as they seem to burst in sudden shades of color. Spring is my favorite time of year due to its slow becoming. With air still holding just a bit of winter, and the green of trees and coming flowers hinting at their blossom - each day holds a promise of the entire season. Yet truly, every moment is a season of its own, complete in what it offers, and patient through the pace of its unfolding. There is no rush to be more present than the first tender break of a branches turn to bud, or the green of leaves that heighten through touch of sun and rain - playing now in a rhythm of their own. Even in motion, this constant becoming through the worth of every season - everything stands complete, whole, beyond the need to strive to be more than what is present. We are not removed from any season. And through our own becoming - we too are complete exactly as we are.
~
Peace,
Eric
*please help support me and this site by visiting Google ads and shopping from Amazon links. Thank you.
No comments:
Post a Comment