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every bloomin’ year

Don’t wait. Don’t wait for the right time. Don’t wait for the right time to figure things out. Don’t wait for the right time to figure out who you are and why you’re here. Don’t wait for the right time to figure out what special gifts you bring to the universe. Don’t wait for answers to come to you – you must seek and find them. Don’t wait, start now – for every day holds promises of discovery. Don’t wait, it’s within your grasp. Don’t wait, come alive. Linnell Chang

spring as officially rounded the curve and come into view. the expectation of buds and color and growth is once more here to remind us that we ain’t in charge. the idea of renewal and refurbishment fills me (and maybe the world) with hope. hope for the future and hope for a fresh start.

i am waiting with anticipation for some changes to take place around my career. it feels odd to be hopeful and remain skeptical together. i can’t really get lost in either feeling. i guess that’s the point. but i truly do wish that i get the opportunity to swim in deeper waters.  i think i’m ready for big boy pants however what i think doesn’t lead to any specific outcome.

i have been called upon to offer some support for a couple of different friends recently. this has reminded me quietly of my real purpose in this life- to be of support. getting to use my experience, strength, and hope for someone else’s benefit is a dividend that continues to pay a high yield.

i am so very grateful for spring.

In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The trees were black where the bark was wet. I see them yet, in the spring of the year. He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach That was out of the way and hard to reach.

In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The rooks went up with a raucous trill. I hear them still, in the fall of the year. He laughed at all I dared to praise, And broke my heart, in little ways.

Year be springing or year be falling, The bark will drip and the birds be calling. There’s much that’s fine to see and hear In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year. ‘Tis not love’s going hurt my days. But that it went in little ways….. Edna St. Vincent Millay




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