The world around me is radiant in golds, yellows, reds, rusts. The wind sifts the leaves out of the trees and I think of cooler weathe
r and the gaunt bareness of winter. If I were to vote, I would name the life giving seasons as my favorite, yet fall and winter have heart stopping beauty of their own. Since retiring I am content to live at the pace of the seasons. Their predictability allows me to wake each morning secure with a sense of order. Within each season are events that mark our lives: holidays, birthdays, transitions, accomplishments, milestones. They come at regular intervals, a collection of stories that define who we are. Half of our time here is spent collecting stories, possessions, and positions. Then the seasons shift and we spend the rest of our time letting go.
