This is how I feel today.
Or, put another way…
There are times when the life force that once seemed so strong it almost knocked me over feels like an almost dry trickle at rock bottom of my river bed of source.
Even my skin groans and creaks with the wind as my bones rattle their protest against this unharmonious, scraping of a season.
Dry and alone. Brittle and bare… but a simple season it is.
After every dry and harsh season come the winds of change and with them, rain, thunder, lightning, and all the growth and greenery I could hope for.
Soon, my skin will be supple again, my mind racing with possibility, and my soul full to the brim with hope.
Perhaps the bone-rattling, branch-scraping season of dry is a time to withdraw. Perhaps life is growing, swelling, gathering beneath the surface, preparing to burst forth when the time is right.
Ah, for now I will be patient, then. I will look deeper within and listen for the hum and drum of teeming and gleaming, waiting for its chance.
I will rest with the Earth, and rise with her when the winds of change blow this way.
I will dream. And write. Hope. And be.
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