Entering Change

How do we pack for the journey we're embarked on? I've begun today with a look over to the neighboring fields that once held cornstalks and are now lined with the nubs reminding me of yesterday. Looking towards winter in the Northeastern United States, there is talk of snow and cold, polar vortexes, and messy roads. The days at hand seem to be a wisp of what they were yesterday, cut short by the rotating of Earth's dance along its axis. These memories and images of the past linger in my body, almost in anticipating of the changes upon the communities nearby. Preparations seem to become ritual, as the leaves being raked become the song of the day.  

The journey seems never ending, and at once, always changing. Branches continue to grow on trees that have shed their leaves, and I am hearing talk of the coming holidays. Time seems to travel so fast, and with it, the movement of busyness of expectations and uncertainty. To slow down is to be unrealistic. What is enough for me? It seems as if longing for yesterday's return urges me to recreate the past for tomorrow. Yet today, today there is a song that I can sing. I learn it for tomorrow. Each verse of lines that rise and fall in harmony that the darker days mean an opportunity to carry more light for growing still.

Growing still, in movement rooted in what we live, is an opportunity to hear the days of our lives - moving and making peace as we live and strive for what's best. As I write from silence, it opens the window of the moment to a rush of what we have packed and what we receive. What we bring and give will enter fully into what we have to work with.