It is the winter of the year, part of the cycle of my life and as I pass through it I leave a part of myself behind.
As I look out the window at the cold gray world I see the snow begin to fall.
Soon the beauty it brings will clothe my world in it's soft white blanket, hiding the refuse of past seasons and the dormant life of the present.
It is not all beauty, it presence restricts me, can prevent me, for a time, from doing those things that are required as my life moves on, my contributions to the life around me, my contributions for being.
I know that soon I'll have to go into this world of beauty, its there for those who look, the graceful arc of evergreen boughs bent under their burden of white, red holly berries rising above the snow to give a flash of color to their green and white surroundings.
I'll have to go into this world, not for the beauty it brings, I must remove the restriction it placed on me, that which blocks my way, the cycle of my life never stops and neither can I.
It seems like such a futile effort sometimes, as so many perform the same task, in a day or so it could all disappear, the evidence of my labor gone, as if I had not been there.
Is it a reflection of a life, encapsulated in a few short moments of time, the effort of an individual forgotten, as the light of a match is forgotten when the match burns down, extinguishes, when it's usefulness is done?
And the cycle continues.
It is the spring of the year, a part of the cycle of my life and as I pass through it I leave a part of myself behind.
It is Spring, new life, hope, the world comes alive again, buds bursting in flower and leaf.
I know I can nurture and coax this new life to express itself more gloriously then it might had I not cared enough to give some of myself to it's existence.
So it is with life, do I just pass by or do I nurture and coax with the hope that I can make the life I touch better?
Would this be a futile effort, gone to soon, the evidence of my effort lost, who will know I've been here, who will know I've passed this way, does it even matter?
And the cycle continues
It is the summer of the year a part of the cycle of my life and as I pass through it I leave a part of myself behind.
The heat of the summer sun, the warm summer rains, the essentials required to fulfill the promise of spring, my labors, coaxing, my expectations, the satisfaction for what I hope to accomplish.
The labor, the coaxing, the effort continues, sometimes I see no end in sight yet I know it's there and with the end will the evidence of my being be lost here also, as with the melting snows of winter?
But what would there have been if I hadn't tried at all?
I hear the song of a windchime, it's several notes singing at the whim of a breeze and the beauty of the simple melody gives me hope.
And the cycle continues.
It is the autumn of the year, a part of the cycle of my life and as I pass through it I leave a part of myself behind.
Autumn brings the transition of life and I watch as the world changes from a time of growth to a time of rest.
I see a kaleidoscope of color in the hills around me as nature puts on it's last brilliant display before the cold winds come.
What will this season offer me, what do I have to give in return, what can I give?
I look back on the previous year, did I really pass through that time, did I exist, did I make a difference?
I look back and I ask did I make a difference, is there an answer, where?
Then I look within myself and I know the answer, I know the answer, I know whether or not I made a difference and that's all that matters.
And the cycle continues.
It is the winter of the year, part of the cycle of my life and as I pass through it I leave a part of myself behind.
