I was told recently that I’m not good at endings.  Pissed me off really.  But it is true.  When I’m pissed, it is my warrior trying to protect me.  She’s protected me a bit too much in the past, so I hear her defensiveness, and ask her to go outside and spar with someone else for a bit.

Thus today I take lessons from the season.  Recognizing that cycles are not endless endings, but waves of here and now, there and then, present and gone.  The leaf that passed by my window will not return.  But there will be countless new ones in the spring.

The forest is becoming transparent without the maple and birches dressed.  But now the bones are visible, the true structure, the skeleton of faith that holds us up.  Even the fir trees will shed needles in the wind.  Making room for more.

I bow to those who brought me here and are out of sight.  I am warmed by that which and who nourish me, and I turn my appreciation to them.

And the trees clap their hands in applause.